


American Legends

by Scottyshuman



Category: Airwolf, Batman - All Media Types, Masked Rider, Spiderman - Fandom, The Phantom (1996)
Genre: Ancient Egyptian Deities, F/M, Horse Shows, Horses, Martial Arts, Retirement?, Romance, Time Travel, polo, ranch life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 52
Words: 134,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scottyshuman/pseuds/Scottyshuman
Summary: What riding around alone with your horse can do for youIn summary, I own no rights to any character that you've ever heard of before.  I really like Vathara's version of Airwolf, but I don't know if that would fit here.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Sam rode her horse through the brush carefully, not wanting to have the mesquite trip the faithful mare. And there were snakes and holes to be wary of, as well, she reminded herself as they picked their way through the scrub. It wasn’t very hot, being spring, and the bugs weren’t too bad yet, as they got to a place where the country was more open. The wide valley was dotted with scrub oak, boulders and a small, dirt road. Sam wasn’t really surprised to see a small group of men dressed like cowboys being chased by another, all on horseback. A western movie shoot out here would not be unusual, so she watched, unable to see the cameras. Maybe it was a rehearsal.

  
It was obvious, in spite of his black cloak and mask, that the pursuing horseman was the good guy. His horse was magnificently black and powerful, gaining on the other horses easily. Shots were being exchanged, and soon the fleeing men, wearing bandanas across their lower faces, were falling from their racing horses. The last man was caught up to right at the bottom of the slope Sam stood on, and the two men engaged in point blank shots that sent both reeling from their milling horses. The horses mostly ran off down the road, all except the black, who stayed near his fallen rider. Sam waited for someone to shout that the scene was over, to let the actors get up, but no one did. All lay where they had fallen. At last she put her mare in motion, riding warily down the steep slope.

  
The stallion snorted at her approach, but didn’t move, one rein touching the ground. Sam was having a bad feeling about this, and made sure her own gun was easily drawn from its sheath. The bloody shirt on the fallen bandit looked rather too real, and the twisted way he lay said ‘dead’ to her. The man in the cloak lay crumpled by the black, and he seemed to still be moving slightly, breathing, anyway. Sam slid from her saddle to the ground, confident that Kumara would stay beside her without that silly dangling rein.

  
The man she rolled to his back was breathing shallowly, his skin pale with shock beneath the black mask. She ripped his clothes off with frantic speed, to find a pair of holes, bloody and oozing in his body. One seemed to have just missed the lung in the right shoulder, the other was just below the ribs on the same side. In muscle, she hoped, unzipping her med kit for the forceps, and carefully searching the wounds for the slugs. She found both, used her bottled iced tea, now tepid, to sluice off the blood, then dried the areas enough to patch with gauze and medical tape. Only then did she cover him with her heavy coat, to keep him warm in his shocky state.

  
“Now, what?” said Sam to the two horses, who flicked their ears toward her in attention. Kumara turned her head and twitched her ears toward something behind Sam, who knew that signal well. Her hand was on the fallen gun of someone, and she turned to face the threat with it in a steady hand. She noted an authentic Colt, walnut grips with no safety, as the big man staggered toward her with his own gun.

  
“Get out of my way, girl,” he growled, blood running down one sleeve. “I’m gonna kill that black devil and take his hoss. And I’ll kill yuh, too, if’n I gotta.”

  
Sam didn’t even hesitate, her gun already aimed, fired one shot. The man dropped with a bullet in his head, no more threats from him. She quickly checked the other dead man, finding him well expired, before she turned back to the man she had treated, She patted the old mare, murmuring approving words to the thoroughbred.

  
The man in black was breathing a little better, his skin no longer the moist cold of shock that it had been, an iron constitution evident. She pulled out her cell phone and was irritated to find no service, though not surprised. She tried her GPS unit, and that, too, no longer worked. Hell, that was pretty certain, what with the people scattered around in various states of perforation. Now what to do with a wounded, wanted legend, two good horses, and being in the wrong time?

  
She knew who her patient was, of course, anyone who read, did these days. His autobiography was the last year’s best selling book, recently published from an authentic manuscript. He had not, even in his private writings, made his real, born name known, causing some wild speculations around the world, but the name he had died under, as an old man, was Wayne Morgan. He had, for many years, been the mysterious Masked Rider, a man both wanted by the law and serving the cause of justice.

  
“You’re not supposed to die here,” Sam told him, his mask still in place, as she checked the wounds. The bullets of these old guns did surprisingly little damage, compared to modern ones, she told herself, cleaning her med gear and packing it up. “So I have to keep you alive somehow. And that means getting you some kind of shelter, before that rain gets here. Okay, Midnight, do you know ‘down boy?’”

  
The stallion did not know that order, but soon learned the trick, as Sam routinely carried horse cookies in her fanny pack and pockets. Once he was down, she zipped her jacket around the wounds, to keep him warm and to hold any bleeding, Then, with some effort, she got the wounded outlaw onto the saddle, tied him as best she could with rags of his cape and urged the big black to his feet.

  
“Well, I always said western saddles were meant to keep dead men on,” she muttered to herself, making sure the man was secure and not too much pressure was on the wounds. “Hope that’s so, since I can’t ride him double on you, Kummi. Now wait a few moments, he’ll want his guns, there, and that guy doesn’t need his anymore, so we’ll just take it too. Ready.”

  
Sam mounted her Steuben saddle easily, GPS in hand, and took the stallion’s rein. Led by the chestnut thoroughbred, the burdened black followed easily, while Sam back tracked herself, one eye on the GPS. When it beeped and came to life, she tapped in the key that saved the exact spot, and then tied a scrap of black cape to a bush. In the ground, empty of bullets, she buried the revolver, then got back on her patient mare and rode on.

  
Half an hour later, she had come to her truck and trailer, parked near a good road through the forest. A quick check of her new friend showed him still alive, his color and temperature actually improving. She got him into the cab, the seat reclined, then went about loading the horses. Again, with Kumara’s example, the stallion soon learned to go into the trailer and then they were on the road back to her tiny ranch, really no more than four acres, hard on the edge of the forest.

  
As he was still looking to be improving, Sam put the horses up, the stallion left in the small arena, a flake of alfalfa for both. Then she got the truck right next to the porch and managed to half carry, half drag the man inside. Once inside, she let herself relax a little, think some. She divested herself of her trail gear, then stripped him naked, worried she might have missed something, perhaps another injury. None showed itself, but he was filthy dirty, with blood and dust all over, stuck to his skin with his body's reactions to being shot. Well, that could be fixed.

  
She needed a bath herself afterward, but the sleeping outlaw lay on the couch, clean and dry, the new bandages almost bloodless. His head and shoulders were pillowed carefully, his body covered in warm, soft blankets. He still breathed evenly, seeming to be resting easily, and she set his guns on the end table at his feet, along with hat, mask and boots beneath. The rest of his outfit went into the laundry room, emerging two hours later to join the pile.

  
She went out and put things away from her aborted ride, made sure the horses were all fed and watered, the stallion content. She racked his saddle in the barn, leaving the rifle sheathed on it. A few more treats with their evening meals, and the horses were content. She went back inside, to find herself staring down a wavering gun barrel.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, put that down before you hurt yourself,” she said, exasperated. “You can’t afford to kill me, even if you hit me. I’m the one who saved your life, and I’m the only one who can get you back where you belong. ‘Sides, who’ll feed you?”

  
“Uh, sorry, ma’am,” he said weakly, letting his hand drop to the blanket-draped lap. “Don’t know where I am, how I got here, who you are. Mind tellin’ me?”

  
“I’ll talk your ear off as long as you lay back down and take it easy, handsome,” she told him, taking the gun and putting it back in the holster on the end table. A quick glance at his bandages showed no terrible hemorrhage, and she felt great relief, pleased at his amazing ability to recover. “And let me make us dinner. Hope you like rice, that’ll be easiest, I think.”

  
“Uh, yes, ma’am,” he repeated, and she saw how much it had taken out of him to sit up and threaten her. He lay back heavily, and she helped him put his feet back up, tucking the blankets around him. “Rice sounds good, ma’am.”

  
“Alright, now first off, my name is Samantha Grey, but my friends call me Sam, not ma’am,” she told him, reaching for the bottled water she had left for his waking. “You’re in my house, on the edge of the Cleveland National Forest, near Julian, California. I brought you here after watching you get shot in a gun battle with a bunch of masked bandits. That, by the way, is where it gets complicated. What is the last date you remember? The year?”

  
“Uh, it was late March, I think,” he said, watching the bottle in some fascination as she popped the top for him. “The year is 1870, I’m fairly sure. Why is that complicated?”

  
“Well, because _this_ is the year 2004, and I’m dead certain about that.” She told him, putting the water into his hand, the left one. “Drink up, blood loss needs lots of fluids to replace the loss, and iron and sugar, which will be coming up shortly. You see, I think I went back in time rather briefly, and I think I know how to go back, once you’re better. Maybe.”

  
He took the bottle and was experimenting with the feel of it, fascinated. It looked like glass, but gave like a goatskin, bending but not cracking. The water inside was a cold, sweet taste, like a very pure well. The label on the side, like on a wine bottle, gave the name and other information on the bottler. What was ‘recycle’ and how did one do it?

  
He looked around the room as he drank the water, she having vanished as soon as he seemed likely to stay put. He had very little reason to move, now that he seemed to be safe, or reasonably so. Naked, clean, well-doctored, he assessed his own body, if very weak. His shoulder and belly seemed to have suffered only muscular penetration, though it seemed to have been a close call for lungs and internal organs. The lack of fever, something that commonly struck after being shot, was gratifying.

  
The room he was in was large, open, most of the furnishings around the edges. Book shelves, a desk, an odd arrangement of shiny metal and glass, and a low, simple table nearby, all of very plain workmanship. There were, in fact, hundreds of books, or things that might be books, everywhere. On the walls not covered by furniture, all of palest blue, paint, not wall paper, were pictures, framed plainly, but some very realistic. Most were of landscapes, some of horses, but all were brightly colored, cheerful, like the spines of the books.

  
He satisfied himself as to the environment, then began to examine her outrageous claim of time travel. Based on just this room, the bottle of water in his hand, and his reasonably healthy state, it might be true. Still, a hundred and thirty years in the future? Well, judging by the books, people were a lot more educated, anyway. He fought the pull of tiredness, the need for sleep, unwilling to go that far in trusting anyone, even such a reasonable young woman, but lost the argument, asleep when she returned.

  
“Well, good thing there’s microwaves,” she sighed, taking his water bottle from a slack hand. He was a very handsome man, now clean and dry, though the jaw was prickling a dark stubble. He had dark, faintly wavy hair, arresting blue eyes, a firm jaw and an even set of teeth. His body was broad across the muscular shoulders, narrower at the waist, with powerful, muscular legs, arms and torso. And, she added to herself, he was hung like his handsome stud horse. It had been all she could do to keep her hands mostly on business in the bath tub. Why did heroes attract her so?

  
It was almost eight when he woke again, this time quite hungry, to the sounds of music, very good music, playing softly. His hostess, captor, nurse or whatever she was, was sitting at the desk, the light bright and unwavering on her neatly braided hair. The glassy window now held a bright light of its own, one on which words and pictures came and went. Many things, now that the lights were dimmer in the room, had tiny-jewel like lights on them, mostly the shiny, metallic things. One device seemed to be a clock, with changing numbers instead of hands, others left him baffled but fascinated.

  
“Ah, awake again, I see,” said that cheerful voice, and the young lady came toward him wearing a very odd outfit. The clothing was brightly colored, concealed nothing of her figure, and made him want to both cover her up and get it off of her entirely. It seemed completely appropriate for such a mysterious, powerful woman. He was certain that a hundred years earlier, this ‘Sam’ would have been labeled a witch, no matter her benign intentions.

  
“You hungry, yet, or thirsty?” she asked, touching the tall standing lamp at the end of the couch. “Kept the rice for you, made some orange juice, figured you’d wake up when you woke up.”

  
“Well, I’m ready, but, ah, not for food, exactly,” admitted the patient. “There be an outhouse nearby, ma’am?”

  
“Outhouse?” she repeated, as though she had never heard of such a thing. “Oh! Bathroom, you mean. Can you walk, do you think? It’s through that door and to the left. Uh, maybe I’d better help you. And maybe a robe or something, you think?”

  
“That’d be right thoughtful, the robe, I mean,” he said, doing his best to blush, and going light-headed with the effort. “But I’m sure I don’t need help to do that. Though maybe just to stand up.”

  
“No, I meant to show you the way stuff works,” she said with a laugh, and vanished to reappear with a thin cotton garment that just barely went around his shoulders, leaving much of his chest and belly bare. Still, it concealed the important things, he told himself, finding the soft stuff sensual and pleasant on his clean skin. The purple and white flower print was sort of tropical looking, he thought, as the girl helped him to his feet with remarkable strength and care. And she’d already bathed his unconscious body, he reminded himself, so it wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen everything already, scars and all.

  
“Sit there,” she told him, after flipping a switch that lit the room almost harshly. “Do your business, use the toilet paper to wipe, then flush, like this. Wash up here, in the sink, try not to fall down, and call me when you’re done, okay?”

  
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently, impressed with the arrangements. Indoor running water, lights that must be electrical, such luxury and convenience! Were all houses in this age so provided, he wondered, holding carefully to the marble sink counter top as she closed the door behind herself. It was easy to do his ‘business’ using his left hand, and he realized that the marble-lined tub to his right must have been used to clean his injured body. Spigots similar to the demonstrated ones on the sink sprouted in it, and he realized that much of the house must have pipes and wires concealed in the walls or the floors. And the soft, flimsy toilet paper was, if one used enough, a great improvement over sears and roebuck catalogs, leaves or corncobs.

  
He looked himself over in the mirror, easily visible from the waist up over the sink as he washed his hands. The bandages were blotched with darkened blood, but none fresh that he could see. The vast collection of scars was quite obvious, in the harsh light, but had apparently not bothered the competent young woman. He made certain the robe was closed and opened the door, finding her leaning on the wall outside. Wordlessly, she reached in, flipped off the lights, and let him balance himself on her arm, back to the couch.

  
“That was quite an experience, ma’am,” he told her, as she helped him sit down on the couch again. “And I am glad you showed me the way things work here. All the lights are electrical, aren’t they?”

  
“Yes, of course, all the conveniences,” she told him, smiling at his continued formality. “I even have cable for my computer, just got that two years ago. Are you going to tell me what I can call you? Because I’m not too keen on calling you ‘sir’, or ‘Masked Rider’ or ‘Mr. Morgan.’ And please call me Sam.”

  
“You know a lot about me, don’t you ma’, uh, Sam?” he asked, as she made him comfortable, supported on both sides to avoid balance issues. “How’d you know all that sort of thing, if you don’t mind tellin’ me, and please call me ‘Morgan’, if you wish.”

  
“Ah, well, read your book, like the rest of the world,” she told him, going to a shelf and returning with a book. “Was a best seller for several months, and for good reason. You have a very good narrative style, and the editors were very good to the manuscript. I may be one of only eight or nine people on the planet who figured out your real name, since you were careful about that, even in a memoir. But I happen to know one of your relatives, so I figured it out, long before my little time slip. Didn’t tell anyone, of course. Bruce Wayne would have been upset with me, and you don’t irritate the Batman, even if he does owe you his life a few times.”

  
The book, wrapped in a paper cover with a bright color picture of a black horse and rider, guns blazing, was titled “Robin Hood of the Old West, the true story of the famous outlaw in his own words.” He did not recognize the names of the editors. It was a very thick book, but appeared to have been well-read. The back of the paper cover related the finding of a manuscript in an old trunk at an estate sale, traced back to a retired sheriff in Colorado. Well, that was interesting, he told himself.

  
“And who is this Bruce Wayne,” he asked, setting aside the book for later, “and what is a ‘batman’ that you would respect him, and what happened to my horse?”

  
“The man Bruce Wayne,” she told him, setting up a convenient tray table next to him, “is a very, very rich, idle millionaire social butterfly in Gotham City, who looks a great deal like you. I met him during a polo match a few years ago. His alter-ego, like yours, is a very closely kept secret, and I wonder if your historical example might have influenced him somewhat, even before he knew your relationship. The Batman rules Gotham’s night, terrifies it’s criminals, is adored by the honest citizens, and lives even more dangerously than you did. He refuses to use guns, never kills, but is the most skillful athlete and detective on the planet. He gets injured, now and then, and I happened to be in a position to help him, much like I did you. This house is the result of two rescues of a man who’d rather I keep out of the line of fire from now on.”

  
“He wanted no one else to take his risks,” nodded the outlaw with understanding. “But how did he figure you’d stay here, out of the way?”

  
“My horses, of course,” she laughed, vanishing into another room that appeared to be a kitchen. Moments later she returned with a plate of steaming something that included rice, several pieces of silverware and a glass of brown liquid in which were chunks of ice. She set these down on the tray and gestured to him to eat. “Shrewd guy, the Batman. Figured out I’d stay where my horses were, so he handed me a blank check and told me to buy a place I could keep them all happy, then threw in a few more to keep me busy. So far, it’s worked pretty well, for both of us.”

  
“And Midnight, he came, uh, through with us?” asked the outlaw, making inroads on the food. It was good. “I mean, I’d hate to lose him, you know.”

  
“Oh, he’s in the corral out back,” she told him, pleased at his obvious liking for the food. “Had to teach him a few new tricks, but he’s smart, and my old mare got in the trailer first, and he discovered horse cookies. Much can be done with horse cookies, you see, and a good example. He seemed happy enough, last I checked. Mustang thoroughbred cross, is he? Seems a bit coarse for a full thoroughbred.”

  
“No idea of his breeding,” shrugged the outlaw, astonished to find that he’d finished the meal. “Never came across a faster hoss, for distance, very brave, too.”

  
“Well, seems nice,” agreed the girl, smiling, “but I’d bet my old girl against him, even now that she’s twenty. New Zealand thoroughbreds have distance speed, and she’s a prime example of her breed. I try not to run her all out, these days, but sometimes she just insists on it.”

  
“You got Midnight into a trailer?” asked the man, wondering if there might be more of that rice stuff now warming his belly. “A rail car?”

  
“No, a two horse trailer, the small one, which is harder than the bigger one,” she told him, pulling out another booklet, this one filled with colored photographs. “This one, see? Last year at the Galway Three-Day, that was.”

  
The thing she pointed at was a double wheeled box, enclosed, with windows that was attached to a strange, shiny blue vehicle that must be an automobile of some kind. Horses were tied to the sides of the box, one an orange sorrel, the other a dark bay. The two people between the horses held ribbons up for the camera, one red, one blue, and looked almost erotically female, wearing riding breeches of white that fit like skin, shiny black boots, and open jackets of black over thin white shirts. The one with the blue ribbon was his hostess.

  
“That was a mighty good trick getting Midnight into that thing,” admitted Morgan, his respect for the woman growing. “What’s a horse cookie?”

  
“Show you when you get well enough to visit him,” the girl promised, putting the photo album back. “Want some more of the rice? I made a lot, since I didn’t know when you’d eaten last.”

  
“Yes, ma’am, uh, Sam, I sure would like some more, if it’s not too much trouble,” he admitted. “Right tasty, it is, if I don’t quite know what it’s flavored with. Not soot, which is what my cookin’ mostly tastes of. Hawk’s is much better, we both agree.”

  
“Here, seconds,” she said moments later, sliding to the floor next to the low table as easily as an oriental might have. Well, the floor was covered by some kind of carpet, so it might not be cold, as his feet weren’t. “And how is it that your buddy Blue Hawk wasn’t around to help you out? I looked around, but only found the guys you fought it out with. Did have to kill one, but none were Indian, I looked.”

  
“He’s off, or was, visitin’ kin in Sonora,” the handsome outlaw told her, finding the cold tea quite refreshing. “I wasn’t planning on getting involved in this area, it’s not a high profile place, as far as _banditos_ go. But that bunch tried to rob a gold mine almost under my nose, so I had to drive ‘em off.”

  
“Well, it seems to me that we have a problem,” she told him thoughtfully. “I think I can take you back to where I found you, if the, well, rift stays there. I don’t know if it will last forever, or just a day, might be gone now. But I also don’t want to send you back so low on blood and badly hurt that a couple of determined nine-year-olds could take you. I’m also not clear on the rules or conventions of time travel. Do I try to keep you in the dark about things, to protect history? Or do I simply trust history to look out for itself? I’ve already let you see too much, know too much, as smart as you are. You’ve probably already figured out transistors, computers, atomic power and the lunar landings, just by looking around my living room.”

  
“Well, not in so many words, no,” he laughed, pleased at her assessment of his mind. “Let’s just figure that this here book proves I do end up back there somehow, and let things go along on their own. I’m pretty sure I could stay on Midnight, if I had to, but not for long, yet. It’s more a feeling like if I move too hard or sudden, things’ll start leakin’ again. Don’t think I got enough juice to spare fer that.”

  
“That was my assessment,” agreed Sam, nodding. “Give you some major doses of ibuprofen, for any inflammation, as much water as you can drink, and let things heal up with rest and food. Best I can do without calling up my little brother the paramedic. But if you start looking bad, Paul gets the first call, before Mr. Wayne. Bruce Wayne has enough resources that he could probably open up a time travel rift himself, if he wants, and he owns whole hospitals.”

  
“Ibuprofen is a drug?” he asked, having lost the thread quickly. “Like opium, laudanum?”

  
“More like aspirin,” she told him, watching him eat. “Aspirin is salicylic acid, I think, distilled originally from willow bark, a mild painkiller and analgesic, like for headaches and fever. Ibuprofen is like that, only it helps to keep swelling down in injuries like sprained ankles, bad bruises, and, we hope, bullet wounds. Very mild, as drugs and medicines go, even for my rather limited collection, and common.”

  
“An’ if I start tuh head south on yuh, yuh’ll call up the serious medical jaspers?” he asked. “Now, how do you know my, uh, relative? And who he is? Don’t seem like he’d just go ‘round tellin’ folk.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, just after we got to Gotham City to play in the Gotham Cup Classic, I kept Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy from being flattened by a bunch of runaway polo ponies. If he’d used his skills then, it would have made people wonder about where he’d learned to do things like that, so he was being in character of mildly thoughtless rich guy. He was probably rather pleased to have not been trampled, of course, but he noted my name, my horse, my face, like he does everything. I was fooled completely, just like everyone else. I thought, gee, he is nice looking, rich, but he seems kind of dumb to be in the way of that many running horses.”

  
“But he wasn’t?” suggested the outlaw, leaning back with a sigh of satisfaction. “Sounds like a very good actor.”

  
“Very good,” agreed Sam. “Wouldn’t have thought a thing about it, but for that night, when Kummi and I were taking a little midnight ride around Gotham Park, near the Central Lake. Batman fell from the sky into the lake, and didn’t come up. Now, Batman falling from the sky in Gotham isn’t unusual, but all limp and out of control, that’s rare. I got worried when it took too long for him to surface, so my horse and I went after him. Found him, not moving, pulled him out, got the water out of his lungs, then took him back to the barn. No one else was around by then, so I used the wash rack to hose him off, found blood, lots of blood. Did my best to fix him up, got him into my quarters, cleaned up everything, put Kummi away, and was sitting next to him cleaning a saddle when he woke up. I’d stuffed the costume in a saddle bag, what was left of it, and made sure he didn’t look at all like who he really was.”

  
“So he looked like a drunken rich guy, not a mysterious, but injured, legend?” smiled the Masked Rider, imagining it. He wondered what this Batman used as a costume. Something more elaborate than a cloak and mask, he suspected.

  
“Yep. Knew me instantly when he woke up, had me dial a number, say two words, and in half an hour, he was gone, whisked away by people who must know what he does. Just before we got back to Del Mar, he made the effort to get to know me, disguised as another groom. But he didn’t know his job, was too, I don’t know, interested in me, so I clammed up, gave him the cold shoulder. I think he might have been testing, to see if I’d spill his secret easily. But it’s dangerous to know who he is, more dangerous if people _think_ you know who he is. His enemies are homicidal maniacs that make Quantrill and the Ripper look like nice boys.”

  
“So you tell me?” he asked, puzzled. “But he did get to know you, didn’t he?”

  
“I’m telling you,” she pointed out, “because you’re a relative of his, and a good man. And normally, you’d have died about the time he was born. Doesn’t make you much of a security risk, see? And, yes, as his public face, he did get to know me, and decided he could trust me. But he wanted me out of the way, away from his enemies, so he handed me a blank check and told me to buy a place that I could run for his retired polo horses. Out here on the West Coast, not back East, near Gotham. So, I did, and here we are. I’ve got about seventeen ponies on the place, your black, and the two of us. Nearest neighbor is six miles away, the nearest town is ten. The city is San Diego, population one point five million, over on the coast, about fifty miles that way.”

  
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not in a position to be so generous,” he told her with a smile. “I’m not rich, by any stretch of the truth. But I do appreciate the, um, timely help.”

  
“Yeah, maybe I could make a second job out of it,” she laughed. “Rescuing handsome masked heroes. ‘Course, that’s why I’m out here, supposedly away from trouble, and now in just weirdness. Can’t imagine anyone else is going to find that rift, not the way I did, though. On the other hand, you could go back and get rich, if you wanted to, you know. Say, invest in Edison, the famous inventor, or in Henry Ford, the auto maker, or buy land in California, or oil in Texas. The list is endless, if you felt like doing that, and according to your bio, there, you don’t die poor. Is a shame, though, that you never had kids.”

  
“I had a little girl, once,” he told her, sadly, “and she was killed, along with her mother. I never felt like trying to do that again, not with anyone else. And after I became the Masked Rider, there was little opportunity, or reason, to know the right kind of woman. I’ve been, uh, celibate, I guess you could say. My life is helping others, not indulging my baser instincts.”

  
“Darn,” she told him with a grin. “I’d love to indulge your baser instincts, handsome. I’ll bet you’re a lot of fun in bed, when you’re not aerated. Though, judging from your scars, that’s most of the time. You got as many scars as the Batman does, and probably for the same reasons, Ah, more water, just a sec.”

  
She moved easily, supply, like a dancer, he observed, her thinly covered body enticing without intent. She was pleasant of face, if not beautiful in the classic sense, her cheeks ruddy with health. The hazel eyes were a bright observant sparkle in her face, the very long hair fuzzing out of its braid to halo her head. The mouth smiled often, the mind behind her eyes educated and quick, the heart brave and determined. She was wasted out here, alone, like a princess in a tower. At least, he assumed she was alone, but perhaps she wasn’t. Surely she had someone to do the heavy work around a small ranch, a man somewhere who admired her lithe, graceful body.

  
What was he thinking, he scolded himself, as she wafted back in, silent and swift, with another couple of the strange bottles. She didn’t sit down, yet, taking the tray table and its contents away, letting him see, and admire, her smooth, naked legs, her barely concealed thighs and rump. Loose, soft material of pale blue, a tunic, really, draped her torso, obviously without corset or girdle, a picture of a fish on the front. Beneath that was a loose set of soft, thick grey pants, cut off just above her knees. She seemed to see nothing either indecent or provocative in the clothing, so it was likely to be normal here. Still, he found such a lot of exposed flesh to be rather arousing.

  
“Now, you gonna tell me what brought you to California?” she asked, settling to the floor once more, this time with a can of brightly colored metal. Canned fruit for dessert, he wondered, watching as she fiddled with the top with one finger, making a hissing sound. Then she drank out of it. Odd. “Sorry, no soda for you, it’s a diuretic. I already cheated letting you have the iced tea.”

  
“Never liked soda,” smiled Morgan, having learned the trick of the pop-up tops. “What’s a diuretic?”

  
“Caffeine, what’s in coffee, tea, this soda,” she told him with a shrug. “It makes water go through you fast, not stay in the body easily. Too much can actually dehydrate you, which you cannot afford. Also keeps you awake.”

  
“Oh,” he said, thinking about it. “That makes a lot of sense, then. But I was just in California to see a friend safe to his home in Monterrey. Never been down this way, so I just happened down. No real reason.”

  
“Well, then you must just be a trouble magnet,” she told him, shrugging. “Some people are. When we take you back, we’ll go make sure the miners were okay, before we split up. Hey, you look ready to fall asleep, there, better lay down again.”

  
“But I don’t want to sleep,” he complained, yawning. “I’m in the future! I want to know all about it. Where’s that music coming from? What are those lights over there, the tiny ones? Does everyone now have so many books? Have they cured all diseases, yet? How many states are there now? Can I have a ride in one of those vehicles? And perhaps I should visit your ‘bathroom’ once more.”

  
“Okay, that’s a good idea,” agreed Sam, and helped him up. This time he leaned more heavily on her, obviously tiring. While there she fed him a couple of ibuprofen tablets, showed him how to brush his teeth and why, before helping him back to the couch. He was asleep, she thought, even before he was completely horizontal. It was only moments that her hands lingered on his skin, his jaw now stubbly with beard growth. He was incredibly sexy, laying there hurt, asleep. She kissed his forehead gently, then turned down the lights, left the music on very low, and went back to her computer research.

  
He woke just before dawn, finding a pair of water bottles next to his couch, the lights low, but making everything perfectly distinct. The soft strains of a Mozart piece were surreal accompaniment to his progress, much steadier now, to the bathroom, then back. He thought he was quiet, but she was there when he opened the door. Though he felt much better, he appreciated her kind touch, and her help, going back to sleep quickly, a practice alien to his usual way of life.

  
She, too, was quiet, far more silent than he, for she knew her house, and what would make noises. She’d found him a set of sweats, cut-offs, and a huge t-shirt, both barely his size, but stretchy. He’d look good enough to eat in such an outfit, but she’d keep her hands off, she was pretty sure. At least until he could ride, she thought. She fed the horses, did the usual chores, then settled into her research again. He had been mentioned in the old history page she’d dug up, but only twice, apparent more in his absence, than in his presence.

  
When he woke at a more reasonable hour, about nine, she fed him breakfast and let him dress himself, which he appreciated. She had found some sheepskin boots, too large for her, that would do for him as slippers. She checked his bandages, gently, changing them and finding a little new blood. He was very pleased, especially at the lack of infections, fevers and other annoyances. She told him frankly, than the fevers were also infections, probably caused by dirt, germs, she called them, in previous wounds. She’d simply kept things cleaner, she maintained.

  
“Well, what would you like to do today?” she asked, knowing very well what she’d like to do, but he wasn’t up to it, yet. “You could read, watch TV, I suppose, maybe go through my music collection. Can’t do anything too strenuous, I think, but lots more liquids and whatever you want to eat. If I don’t have what you like, I can go to the store for it.”

  
“Well, you seem to have a lot of pictures, photographs, in colors,” he said slowly, “and that glass box has things on it that move, when you touch things. I don’t understand some of what you say, but I want to! Your music collection, is it really small recording tubes? It’s very fine stuff, the best orchestras I’ve ever heard. I’d love to spend a few months reading your books, but it would take me longer than that to understand them, I think, just from the titles I can see from here. And what is ‘teevee’ and why would I watch it?”

  
“Ah, TV, short for television, is the opiate of the masses, so Orwell said, I think,” she laughed. “Good and bad, you can find it all. You know how there were vaudeville shows, plays, operas, concerts and lectures for entertainment in big cities in your day? Well, that sort of variety, and lots more, can be found on that box there. Cable is a device which delivers fifty two choices of channels, each one with different interests. For instance, the History Channel, one of my favorites, has hour long lectures with pictures, of various historical subjects, like castles, the Civil War, famous people, the Pyramids, that kind of thing. The QVC network has famous people selling stuff, usually cheap, useless stuff, to any idiot with a credit card. The sports channels, there are several, have sports all the time, from baseball and polo to bowling and golf. The major networks have daytime soaps, for the brain-dead housewife, then sitcoms and cop shows for the working brain-dead. I usually watch the History Channel, the Discovery Channel and the Science Fiction Channel. I don’t recommend that one, since you’re kind of out of your depth already, and that station has strange stuff sometimes.”

  
“Constant entertainment?” he asked, aghast. “But who has time for such a thing? More recordings?”

  
“Very good,” she laughed. “Yes, very few shows are actually live. News shows, sometimes sports. Give you an awfully skewed view of the world, though. Or, I suppose, if you promise not to do anything, at all, you could come with me within the grounds. Maybe even learn to drive the gator. See your horse, my horse, the ranch, get some air.”

  
“That’s the one,” he opted, reluctant to let her, his link to his own time, his guide to this one, too far out of sight. “What kind of horse is this gaiter?”

  
“Just you sit on the porch, here, and wait a minute,” she told him after a few minutes of getting ready. “It’s no Ferrari, but it’s a fun ride, if you’ve never done it before.”

  
He waited obediently, feeling out his injuries in the shade. He felt half naked, especially without his guns, but she seemed to feel he was decently clothed. Her own body was beautiful and enticing, and he suspected his lack of reaction to her was due entirely to his blood loss. He would be very sorry to leave her, he admitted to himself, failing to imagine her in his own time. But how she would have taken to the restrictions his own time put on women, he told himself, would have been interesting to see. Bull in a china shop, he expected.

  
A loud, mechanical chug came toward him, from around the side of the house, and soon an odd device, a horseless wagon, Sam at the helm, appeared. Painted a bright green, with a discrete little name ‘Gator’ on the small back cargo space, it moved with a determined attitude, with six fat black wheels beneath it. Sam seemed to be quite expert in the use of it, as she pulled it into place by the stairs, the unoccupied seat just at the lowest riser.

  
“This,” she told him, letting him balance on her down the stairs, “is a Gator, the best little ranch workhorse that John Deere makes. Of course, I have a real John Deere tractor, for other, heavier work, but this one is what I use the most. Perfectly safe, it can’t go over forty, but it’s usually more like fifteen, here.”

  
“Surely it can’t carry much,” he said doubtfully, the springs taking his weight easily. Sam went around to the left side of the thing and got in, grinning at him. “What makes it go?”

  
“Gasoline,” she told him, putting it in gear. “Sort of fine grade kerosene. And it’s a John Deere, it can carry three tons if I can pack it right.”

  
“Tons?” he asked, vaguely aware that John Deere and Company made plows. The thing lurched into motion and he found shortly that it was indeed an enjoyable ride, and an easy way to get around. Once he had given up worrying that they would tip over, he watched where they were going, and saw a tidy, well kept small horse ranch. The property was divided into several large pastures, several smaller enclosures, and the area with house, barn and ring. All around the property was a white board fence, pierced by several gates. They headed for the arena, a solid, board-topped wall of plywood all around. Inside the five foot walls was Midnight, apparently quite at home, and not at all worried about the noisy gator.

  
“Why’s Midnight not unhappy ‘bout this thing?”' asked Morgan, curiously, as the big black hung his head over the gate toward them. “He knows me, but this thing makes _m_ e a little worried.”

  
“Ah, but he’s discovered that this thing brings food, treats, sometimes goodies,” laughed Sam. “Hey, boy, ready to go to the new stall? Here, Morgan, I’ll just be a minute, I want to put him somewhere with shade. Don’t run off, now.”

  
“No, ma’am,” he chuckled, watching from the comfortable seat as she gave some small thing to the stallion, then opened the gate, haltered him, and led him to a nearby pen. The new pen had metal bars all around it, round pipes with no sharp edges, a tin roof at one end and a pile of hay at the other. Sam put him in the pen and showed the stallion the water, then left him stretching his nose out to another dark horse near him. There were eight of these smaller pens, all full of nice looking horses, all of whom watched Sam very closely, some nickering to her or nodding their heads. She patted them and gave them small treats as she passed, the central aisle also roofed, a kind of open air barn. Morgan noted that it would be completely fireproof, cool and airy.

  
“Need the arena for turnouts in a bit,” she told him, getting back into the contraption. “Now let’s go see my favorite, the horse I was on when I found you. She’s over in the south pasture. They’ll come when they hear the gator.”

  
“Why will they come?” he asked, thinking that a horse might more likely run from such a noise. “Because of the treats? Of you?”

  
“That and I sometimes feed from the back,” she agreed, steering the vehicle with the ease of long practice. “Course, we needn’t go quite so far to see my girl. I see her coming now.”

  
An orange horse, slender and elegant, almost deer-like, had just bounded up out of a small copse of trees, stood for a moment in alert silence, then swept toward them in a burst of speed. The tall fence was cleared almost contemptuously, the speed never changing, until the coppery mare stopped next to the driver, nickering.

  
“Show off,” said Sam, having stopped in the shade of a live oak. Morgan heard genuine affection in that tone, and rather wished to hear Sam speak to him the same way. “I didn’t call you, Kummi. Bored with the others already?”

  
“She looks fast,” commented Morgan, admiring the mare’s fine head, muzzle delicately nosing Sam’s body. “Did you say she’s old?”

  
“Twenty last New Years,” said the girl, getting out of the vehicle, having turned it off. “Not really old for a New Zealand bred, of course. But can’t see well enough out of the right eye to play anymore. And yes, she’s a blazing fast horse, with the moves of a cat. Also spoiled rotten, aren’t you, sweetie?”

  
The mare was content to stand next to the girl, searching her person with care for treats. There were not a lot of places Sam could have concealed anything, in Morgan’s opinion. She wore skin hugging pants that showed every curve beneath them, low boots with leather leggings, in imitation of tall boots. There was some looseness to her white shirt, which had an outline of a rearing horse on it in thin black lines, but nothing resembling pockets. True, it might appear to the equine eye that those prominent mounds of her generous breasts might be something, but he was fairly sure horses wouldn’t find them so tempting as he.

  
He yanked his mind away from a momentary fantasy of her standing there naked, surprised that his body was stirring in gallant response. He watched her with the horse, realizing that she was a kind and gentle woman, forced by circumstances to come to his aid, not, he thought, by her own choices. He saw her reach across to the panel in front of him and open it. Inside were many of the little treats, a handful of which she took, and a gun. Of sorts.

  
“What kind of gun is that?” he asked, as she fed the delighted mare. “May I look at it?”

  
“Glock nine millimeter,” she told him. “Sure, you can look it over. Not like the artillery you wear, of course. Keep it in there for emergencies. Was carrying the good gun when I found you, though.”

  
“It’s very light,” he commented, surprised. “And where do the bullets go?”

  
“In the handle,” she told him. “A spring loaded clip. I suppose we could go over to the range and do a few targets, if you like. Gotta get the target guns, though, and maybe yours. Stupid to empty the emergency gun, after all. What if I need it?”

  
“For what might you need it?” he asked, as she got back behind the wheel. “Don’t you need to put your horse back?”

  
“Nah, Kummi can come, she’s no trouble,” shrugged Sam as the mare ambled after them. “As to the other, I’m a single woman, living out here, far away from anywhere else. To some people, I look like a target of opportunity. Still legal to shoot trespassers, so I do. Word seems to have gotten around, though, since I haven’t had to kill anyone in over a year.”

  
“You mean, people have come here to rob you?” he asked, feeling cold hands down his spine. For she was a very attractive woman, and some men would indeed think of her as a target.

  
“I’m sure they meant to do that, too,” agreed Sam casually. “But I have better training than most, and even unarmed, I’m no pushover. Rape is not my idea of a good time, so the score sits at Sam five, trespassers zero.”

  
“You killed five men who tried to, ah, rape you?” he asked, shocked at how frank she was about the idea. “I hope they died slow, lingering deaths! Uh, all at the same time?”

  
“No, two came along at different times, singly,” she told him, pulling up in front of the house. “Three at a time, once. And one guy lived, actually. Be right back. Kummi, be nice to him, no nudges.”

  
Morgan fought down his shock and anger at the idea of any man trying to harm a woman that way, especially this woman. Well, she could apparently defend herself quite adequately, without his help, he told himself sternly. He understood the temptation of the dead men, however cruel and brutish their methods, for Sam was quite attractive.

  
He thought about that closely. What made her so attractive? Was it the very revealing clothes she wore? No, he’d never had trouble ignoring thin or missing clothing on pretty girls before. Was it her casually friendly, not exactly bedside manner? Well, he’d not gone panting after the few other young women who had treated his wounds. Was it her cool competence, her easy way of accepting his strange and dangerous life? He thought that might be part of it, but not all. Was it her vast amount of education and knowledge? Well, that, too, might be a good bit of his reason for, well, being set on her. She attracted him very much, he admitted to himself candidly. And she had given him more than one hint that she thought well of him. Still, he could not just court her, even with marriage as an object, the very idea was absurd.

  
His apparently authentic biography was a very large part of the argument, too. Died an old, single man, it seemed, and with no children or heirs. And in the proper time, too. Even if he could get back to his own era, it was apparent that she would not, and who could blame her? This was where she belonged, not struggling to run a primitive house in some long vanished day. If she’d be content with being a wife and housekeeper, which he rather doubted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sex scene with sandwiches

She came back out of the house, then, carrying several bags, rather like carry sacks, all shiny fabric in blue. She set the seemingly heavy bags in the back, then went back for another trip. She came back down the stairs the second time carrying his guns and belt, as well as a kind of brightly colored keg. These also went in small cargo space. She then got back in the driver’s seat and started up the machine. The old mare followed them like a dog, unconcerned at the lack of treats.

  
“Kummi hates to be separated from me,” Sam explained, as they headed back behind the small barn. “I suppose it’s a good thing she stays out of the house! Follows me anywhere around the place, never gets in trouble, though I did have to put the grain in locked bins.”

  
They came to a place where there was a small hill, making a perfect backdrop for a row of posts, at varying distances, most looking rather chewed up. Andie stopped at a considerable distance from the posts and the dirt backstop, but with the gator pointed forward so Morgan could see easily. A wooden bench and table sat next to them, shaded by a tree, or possibly it was an ambitious bush.

  
“My own personal shooting range,” Sam told him, pulling a roll of something white out of the bags. “Let me put up the targets, and Kummi, stay.”

  
The two of them watched as she went to the posts and some moldering straw bales and fastened broad white sheets of paper to them, most marked with human shaped targets. She dragged a few of the bales around, and propped up a few boards against the posts. Eventually satisfied, she returned, and bowed to Morgan.

  
“The range is now open,” she told him, with a grin, pulling weapons from the bags and setting them on the table. “Please be sure you are not straining any of your injuries before trying any of the guns, including yours. And stay in the shade, or your legs will sunburn. Any requests?”

  
“You don’t seem to have any revolvers there,” he said, looking from his comfortable seat in the gator. “What kind of guns are they?”

  
“Mostly automatics,” she explained, pointing. “They use a spring to load the chamber, the fired gases to cock and load the next round, and to eject the spent round. This reduces the recoil and makes firing a matter of trigger pressure. The rifle is bolt action, however, a Marlin .22 target rifle with scope, far more than needed at this distance, but quieter. This is my target gun, a competition piece, small caliber. That’s my ‘I’m serious’ gun, a Ruger, much larger caliber. Shall I show you any particular one?”

  
“Well, the distance seems a bit optimistic,” he commented, poking carefully at his bandaged wounds. “My guns are good, and I’m pretty accurate with them, but that seems unlikely distance for them to show well.”

  
“Yeah, the old Colts weren’t very accurate at distances, as I recall,” she nodded. “Modern handguns, most of them, do better, mostly because the bullets go faster, keeping their trajectory longer. That also means they hit harder. If you’d been shot by my Glock or Ruger, you’d be in much worse shape than you are, and probably in a hospital, if you’d lived this long.”

  
“Why?” he asked curiously, seeing her laying out the guns precisely, and now fitting mufflers over her ears.

  
“They make bigger holes in you now,” she said, taking up the target gun, checking it carefully and loading it from a pile of boxes. “Little holes going in, big holes going out. Hard to fix, so I try not to shoot anyone I don’t mean to kill. Okay, pick a target.”

  
“Hmm, second haybale from the left, head shot,” he told her, watching her, not the target. Her arm rose smoothly and the gun began to speak. After emptying her weapon, she set it down and took off the ear muffs. She picked up one of the larger guns and loaded it, put the ear things back on and stood again relaxed. “First post on the right, chest shot.”

  
“Try my guns,” he suggested, then. “Or are they too heavy?”

  
“No, but I don’t have any more ammo for them,” she warned. “Have to go buy you some, if we do any real shooting.”

  
“I got a few boxes left in my bedroll,” he assured her, seeing her check the load. “I can afford a few shots. Never pays to skimp on practice.”

  
“Okay, but nothing fancy, please,” she said, grinning. She took a very different stance, he noted, than he himself would have, holding the gun in both hands.

  
“Middle haybale,” he said, “try for the heart.”

  
“Kicks like a mule,” she commented, as she laid the smoking gun back on the table. “Can’t see how you ever hit anything from the back of a horse. Of course, you are kin to the Batman, so that explains part of it.”

  
“May I try the larger gun?” he asked politely, as she reloaded. “I promise not to open up the wounds.”

  
“Sure, but you can sit at the table and use it to steady your aim, if you like, and take the weight,” she told him, seeing him get stiffly out of the gator.

  
“No, I’d prefer to stand,” he told her, taking up the weapon she’d reloaded. He checked it and did what she’d done to prime it, a satisfying metallic sound. He stood with the gun at his side as she had, relaxed. “Target?”

  
“Far right post, head shot,” she told him, admiring his determination, if not his sense. “Very good shots. Now get in the gator, the driver’s side, we’re gonna teach you to drive.”

  
He fell asleep that night exhausted, but healing, stuffed with food, warm, clean and dry. He had learned to steer the runabout, finding it great fun and much easier than walking would have been. He had found out a great deal about his hostess, and about the world she lived in.

  
Sam was thirty-two, living alone, except for another woman, one who was away at a horse show, named Brooke. There was no significant male in her life, and she wrote fiction, books, for a living. That evening she had done something to the larger window box in the living room, and on its screen appeared a scene, smaller than life, of a polo game, one in which Sam had played. The thing had fascinated him, but then, so did she.

  
The next morning, feeling a great deal better, he woke up before she did. He dressed himself in his own clothes, then made a very quiet investigation of the house. He very nearly didn’t make it past her bedroom, staring at her quietly sleeping face with a surge of emotion behind it. He felt almost like he could have crept in and kissed her awake, but he did not, reining in his emotions and going on his way. The bedroom, too, had held its share of books, he had noted, and a plan was forming in his keen mind, now, no longer sluggish from blood loss.

  
She found him in the easy chair in the living room, reading a book of history. She made him breakfast, then went out to do the morning feeding. When she came back in, he had cleaned up the breakfast things and was back to reading. He put down the book as soon as she walked in, obviously waiting for her. She looked at that handsome, intelligent face, that powerful, scarred body, and came to a very easy decision.

  
“Feeling better today, I see,” she said, moving to stand next to him, looking up into his face. “You’ll be leaving soon, I suppose.”

  
“Yes, ma’am, I will, if I can,” he admitted, his plan having become quite clear now, in his mind. “And I don’t quite know how to thank you for such a fabulous rescue and, ah, rest cure. I almost wish I could stay, an’ if it weren’t for Hawk, I think I would. You wouldn’t need an extra hand or two around the place, would you?”

  
“I would welcome you and Hawk, if you cared to stay, and for as long as you wanted,” she told him. “As to thanking me, I have an exact idea how you can do that, and at the same time, find out how healed up you really are. Make love to me, Morgan.”

  
“Uh, pardon me, Sam?” he asked, certain he’d misheard her. Yet his body reacted eagerly, misheard or not. “I must not have heard that right.”

  
“Yes, you did,” she told him, moving closer, the heat from her body going through their clothes as she put her arms around his waist, her hips and breasts pressed into his own hard, eager body. “I don’t have time to wait for you to ask, to be subtle, to seduce you in the normal way, if I even could. I want you to come to bed with me and let me please you, let you please me, enjoy each other as thoroughly as possible.”

  
“Uh, I can’t do that,” he protested weakly, as her body molded itself to his, his arms going around her and holding her closer, without thought. “We’re not married, Sam. What if I get you, uh, in the family way? I might not ever get back, never even see you again. I can’t do that to you, although, I have to admit, you are very tempting, and you feel very nice.”

  
“I can be very nice,” she purred, kissing his chin, a slight stubble on it now. “And do you think I’m stupid, not to know that I may never see you again? Why do you think I’m rushing at this the way I am? Now, yes or no, sweetie, and please, don’t say no.”

  
“You’re very persuasive,” he murmured, and kissed her. He felt her body melt against his own, felt her eager return of his kiss, the sudden flare of need and love that followed that kiss. Needs and emotions that he had suppressed for years now rose up in him and fired his blood, drove his body, and apparently were returned with interest by his rescuer. Her hands had soon stripped him of his clothes, apparently never leaving her lips long away from his.

  
“Come to my room,” she whispered as her own clothing joined his on the floor. She was incredibly beautiful naked, and he swept her up in his arms and carried her obediently to her bed. He set her gently on the covers and she pulled him down on top of her, growling. “Now, let’s play doctor.”

  
She rolled him to his back, and under the pretense of examining his injuries, her lips explored his body, her hands gently stroking his erection, his maleness. Then, to his astonishment, she took her lips, her tongue, to that hard, proud flesh, and, surprised, she swallowed his seed with what seemed delight. She was soon resting on the pillows of the big bed with him doing the exploring. He took the chance to do something similar to her, delighting in the taste of her, her groans of pleasure. His attentions brought her to a sobbing orgasm, leaving her to beg him to enter her, fill her. He chose instead to cover her body with kisses, gentle, exploring kisses. His mouth and hands cherished her in delighted dalliance, and she did her best to return his endearments with her own.

  
Time after time, sweet and gentle, he gave her long, deep pleasures, and used mouth and hands, tongue and teeth, never entering her with his so beautiful self. She realized, after an hour, maybe two, what he was doing, and laughed. She pulled him down beside her and took him in her arms, wrapping herself around him and kissing him hard. Her sex, wet with her pleasures, lay on his throbbing, hard length, long since risen.

  
“Silly,” she whispered to him, her tongue in his ear. “Don’t worry about getting me pregnant, I know exactly what I’m doing here, and that isn’t it. Do you think we can put men on the moon and not contraceptives in stores? Birth control, my darling, unexpectedly skillful, Morgan, is easily available, and I don’t want you to feel constrained on my account. Or will it hurt the lower injury too much?”

  
“You put men on the moon?” he asked, astonished, as he pieced together her words and made sense of them, finding it hard to think with her so close, her scent in his nose, her taste on his lips, her body warm and moist on his shaft. Yes, he had been holding himself in check for fear of leaving her a bastard, though she seemed, for all her other good sense, to have been unworried. So, women no longer went in fear of unwanted children, eh? Now they could just enjoy the pleasures of sex, without the worry, and even fear. How civilized, and yet decadent, he thought, as she made him lay back and straddled him like a horse, his male organs trapped beneath her dripping cleft. “And not in this position, it won’t hurt.”

  
“Of course, and sent unmanned probes to explore Mars and the other planets,” she told him, and raised herself up over him. He watched in pleasure at the sight of her and then felt her guide him into her moist, warm, tight depths. He groaned in astonished rapture as she moved on him, using her body to please his, as pampered as some sedentary eastern pasha in his harem, he told himself in wonder. He dared to reach up and cup his hands around her firm breasts, moving so enticingly above him, and she leaned into his grip, with a moan. She moved faster, and he felt the flutter of her muscles around his proud flesh and saw her flush with her own ecstasy, whimpering a little. This time, obedient to her own urging, he let his control slip, and his seed spurted into her as she groaned above him, now holding his hands to her breasts with her own.

  
He woke to find her getting back into bed with him, having made sandwiches and brought drinks for them both. It was novel and quite odd to be naked and relaxed with a woman, but he could not imagine another in the role. She fed him with gentle, loving hands, his body resting partially on her own.

  
“Well, I don’t see any new blood on your bandages,” she murmured to him, as he drank from a ‘plastic’ water bottle. “And aside from a tendency to tire rather easily, you seem perfectly healthy, not to mention wonderfully skillful. How long has it been for you, since you made love, Morgan?”

  
“Since I put on the mask and cloak,” he told her simply. “My wife was the only woman I had ever been with, before or since. And I only did what you seemed to want, Sam. Don’t you have any worries about, ah, doing this with someone you’ve only known two days?”

  
“Morgan, I’ve known you longer than that,” she laughed softly, stroking his hair as his head rested between her breasts. “I read your biography, fell in love with you a year ago. I’ve fantasized about doing this with you all that time. And you are so very much nicer than my fantasies, too. After all, in my fantasy world, you didn’t have anywhere near that size of tool. It’s so deliciously big, I wonder how you could ride, hung like that. See, he’s so big, even now, and all out in the cold, too.”

  
Morgan blushed, as his thick, long shaft swelled in excitement, as if with her praise. And he found her hands stroking gently over old scars and wounds very much encouraging. He carefully set aside the lunch debris, and went back to exploring ways of pleasuring this amazing woman. He began by suckling her generous breasts, his hands stroking her between her trembling thighs.

  
Soon he was stroking his fingers into her wet opening as he suckled on her clit, making her scream softly and thrash in orgasmic spasms. He eventually had his whole hand inside her, holding her down with his body as she was wracked with pleasure’s lightning, his fist twisting in her up to his wrist, slicked with her juices.

  
When he withdrew, licking her taste from his hand like maple syrup, she lay trembling and panting in exhaustion, and he smiled at the sight. She was beautiful this way, and he meant to keep her in this state for quite some time. He may have been celibate all these years, but Hawk had not, and had often told his masked friend of his adventurous trysts with Indian women of various tribes.

  
Sam found herself laying on her belly, legs splayed, as her lover lay over her, hard, hot length between her thighs. He pulled her hips up as he knelt between her legs and slowly invaded her twitching, ready opening, feeling even more enormous in this position. She groaned as he slid home, his balls hanging free as he leaned over her back to cup her breasts and squeeze with gentle possessiveness.

  
“God, you feel so good,” she whimpered, as he pulled her up against him, and moaned as his hardness shifted inside her, pressing other places more firmly. “Oh, I don’t want you to leave, Morgan, uhh, oh, I’m coming again!”

  
She writhed and twisted most deliciously on his impaling member, while he rocked her on his shaft, held her captive in his hands. When he slid one hand down to rub her clit, she exploded into such fits of ecstasy that he lay back down, across her body, to control her. One hand came back to take his sensitive balls and squeeze gently, urging him to come as well. He released his hold on her breasts and reared up over her, holding her hips as he pounded frantically into her tightness.

  
She left him there, naked and beautiful, while she showered and did the evening feeding. Kumara nuzzled her knowingly, curling her lip at the scent of sex on her mistress. She made a light dinner and made sure it could be warmed in the microwave. Then she went to waken her incredible sex machine.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dinner, gorgeous,” she told him, smiling at his instant alertness. “How do you feel?”

  
“Hmm,” he said, stretching luxuriously, showing every solid muscle in sharp relief. “Good, really good. If it didn’t ache a little, I’d never guess I’d been shot a few days ago. And almost at peace, strangely.”

  
“You need to take a vacation more often,” she told him, smiling. “If that rift is, ah, permanent, you ever make it back here, I’ll take you to Hawaii, let you really relax.”

  
“The Sandwich Islands?” he asked, puzzled. “Why there?”

  
“We, my family, have a condo there, and there’s nothing to do but read, sleep, swim and eat. It’s very nice, beautiful, friendly, not too expensive, and the sea life is amazing. And it's the fiftieth state, Hawaii, now, with all the modern conveniences, if you want them.”

  
“I think I will have to go back the day after tomorrow,” he told her, aware that she could refuse, if she wanted, for he had no idea how to get to the ‘rift’, if it still existed. “But, I wish to ask a favor of you first, though you have done much more, and freely, than anyone has a right to expect. Tomorrow, would you show me what the future looks like? A city, maybe?”

  
“Sure, on one condition,” she told him, with a grin. “Sleep in my bed with me tonight, make love with me tomorrow night before you go back.”

  
“That’s no bargain for you,” he told her, flattered into blushing. “I’m surely enjoying myself more than you are. Is there nothing more you want from me, Sam?”

  
“I’d ask for a promise to come back, but I doubt that’s possible to promise,” she told him seriously. “That rift may just be waiting for you to go back through it before it, I don’t know, snaps shut. It would be wonderful to come home one day and find Midnight and Hawk’s grey in the arena and you trying to figure out the microwave. You will always be welcome, both of you, if the gods smile on me so wonderfully. But I do not ask it.”

  
“Well, I do,” he told her, touched at her desire, her wish for him, and welcome to a man she’d never met. “I’ll promise, Sam, if I can come back, I will, though it might take a few years, at least in my ‘time’. Do you think time runs the same on both sides of that rift?”

  
“No way to know,” she shrugged as he ate, planning her day in her head. “In old stories about fairy mounds and the like, the hero always comes back to find things much later than he started, and that kinda sounds like a time rift. It also sounds like maybe time moves differently on either side. Terra incognita, you know?”

  
“Oh, yes, I read stories about that kind of thing, when I was a child,” he nodded. “The story of Oisan, was it? And Tannhauser, I think.”

  
“Now, if I feed early, let everyone out in the arena, also early, we can drive down to San Diego, and see the bay, the airport, the downtown area, have lunch somewhere, then make it back before feeding time. Probably.”

  
“It’s how far to the city?” he asked, confused. “All in one day?”

  
“About a hundred miles, one way,” she told him, toying with her glass, planning. “Hour and a half, or so, two if we run into traffic. Then we can load up the next morning and get to the rift about eleven.”

  
“Then we won’t be taking the gator,” he deduced. “What goes so fast, then? It must be quite frightening. Oh, there’s a train nearby.”

  
“It’s like a train, only self-directed,” she told him, having difficulty even thinking of him as scared. “Don’t worry, most of the time it’s fairly safe. You do have to take a test to get a license, before you’re allowed to drive, though some people seem to have forgotten most of what they learned. You’ll see.”

  
After so much strenuous exercise, then a good meal, Morgan almost fell asleep in the shower, and was asleep almost before Sam could turn out the lights. She was absurdly pleased, however, when he pulled her close and sighed as if in contentment when she let him. Pleasant dreams, indeed, she told herself, and slid into sleep herself.

  
After doing a quick job on the horses the next morning, Sam got the truck out of the garage, then pulled up to the front porch. This was the same truck she had shown him in the picture once before, he thought, but without the horse box behind. She put his seatbelt on for him, then got behind the wheel. She drove slowly to the gate, then put on a bit more speed on the graveled road. She looked over at Morgan, who had a grip on the inset handle, and a look of unease on his face.

  
“Having fun, sweetie?” she asked with a chuckle. “I’m considered a rather sedate driver, you know. Not like some.”

  
“This contraption goes faster?” he asked, glancing at her in some apprehension. “I don’t believe it!”

  
She reached over and checked his seat belt with a grin.

  
“A challenge, I vow it! The saying goes, “get in, sit down, shut up and hang on!” I’m gonna drive it like it was stolen, you watch!" She put the truck into third, and hit a good speed, though not at all unsafe. Then they hit the paved two lane road, and she went faster. Then she got on the freeway, and hit eighty, being passed by some even faster vehicles, before slowing at the summit for the turnout. She stopped where they could see the whole county to the ocean, the brown haze of smog visible only slightly, heavy winds having blown much of it away the night before. Morgan took no notice of the smog, it was much less unpleasant than the coal and wood smoke pall that had hung over the city of his youth.

  
“Well?” she asked as her truck idled at the lookout, deserted at this hour. “What do you think?”

  
“You go too fast,” he said, certainty in his voice.

  
“Mmm, you didn’t think that yesterday,” she said, arching one eyebrow at him as she pulled out onto the freeway again.

  
“Well, I did think so, actually,” he admitted with a grin, “but I thought it impolite to say so, at the time.”

  
“Is that another dare, dear?” she purred, her speed now merely what others were doing, he found. “I’ll take you up on that one, too. Though it did seem that you were enjoying yourself almost as much as I was.”

  
“Oh, I’m sure I was much the winner in that game, Sam,” he chuckled, now able to notice signs and landscape, other vehicles and buildings. Every vehicle had a colorful plate attached, apparently a registry number. Each also had words on them, like brands, usually in silver. Most were shiny, some, however were older looking, dented or dull.

  
The road had signs urging ‘exit’, ‘speed limit’, and numbers, which probably meant something about where they were. Soon they came to an area of farms, small ranches, then a very heavily populated area, to his eyes, the city? No, she told him casually, just a little hamlet, a wide spot in the road. As they sped westward, he found more and more of the lands tamed, built on, farmed, used, and many more cars and trucks. There were huge walls in the air that bore fascinating signs, apparently advertising a product, though sometimes he couldn’t discern what it might be. All along the road, now, were places that extolled to passing vehicles their services or goods, some obvious, some not.

  
Huge, double trailers, like rail cars, and tiny, swift cars sped along with them, zooming on and off the exquisitely smooth roadway like birds. They were, he was informed, reaching El Cajon, a large city in its own right, but not their destination. He stared in fascination at the valley, virtually filled with buildings, vehicles, humanity. A sparkle in the air caught his eye, a balloon?

  
“No, a traffic chopper, looks like,” she said, with a glance that must surely be dangerous, amused at his questions and comments. Why did such ugly buildings get built? “Hope that doesn’t mean we’re going to get stuck on the ess curve. Let’s see if there’s anything on the news.”

  
She punched a button on the console before them, and an oblong thing lit up, and music played. She frowned, spared the dial a glance and pushed another button. A voice came into their passenger space announcing the time, the day, and the weather. Well, any fool could see what the weather was doing, Morgan thought, just before the voice insisted that a cooling trend was coming, with possible rain in the next day or so, according to the National Weather Service.

  
“Traffic,” demanded Sam impatiently, from this wonder, “what about the traffic?”

  
“Clearing a crash on the Ninety-four,” replied the voice, as if in obedience. “A semi has jack-knifed on the Eight-Oh-Five just past the merge going south, but the rest of the county is reported clear at this hour.”

  
“Okay, that’s good,” she said, with a smile. “You can turn it off now. Push the big round button in and it’ll turn off. Thank you. Guess the chopper is just patrolling. Could be El Cajon Police, even the phone company, checking lines. It’s not a balloon, though, those are mostly recreational, these days. That up there is a helicopter, a rotary blade set above a passenger compartment, that can hover as well as fly. Not like fixed wing aircraft, which have to keep moving, but go lots faster.”

  
“Can we see that closer?” he asked, fascinated, craning his neck to watch the glitter far above. “Flying! Imagine that! Have you ever done it?”

  
“Sure, only way to get to Hawaii, barring a boat, which takes too long,” she told him. “My old mare got here from New Zealand that way, too. Anyone can fly, you just buy a ticket, pack your bags and go. Kind of like trains used to be, only faster, especially over water. You can get from here to New Zealand in fourteen hours, including two stops, one in Hawaii, one in Fiji, for refueling. Only takes five hours to get to Hawaii.”

  
“So fast!” he marveled, thinking about it, about the radio. Of course, if you flew through the air, you would want to know about the weather, and in great detail, he told himself. “And the East Coast, Gotham, Europe?”

  
“East Coast cities, say Gotham, New York, three hours, Europe, six or seven, some non-stop,” she informed him, casually switching lanes. “You ever been to Europe?”

  
“When I was very young, a boy, we went to England, France, Spain one year,” he recalled. “It took two weeks to cross the Atlantic, as I recall.”

  
“Well, some people still prefer that method, a liner,” she conceded. “People who like the journey more than the destination, or who have the time and money. Better food, of course, on a liner, than a plane, most of ‘em.”

  
They went along, the vehicles swarming ever thicker, it seemed, until it seemed they were far too closely packed, yet still moving at fantastic speed, surely courting disaster. Morgan recalled the ‘crash on the ninety-four' and concluded that accidents must surely befall these metal monsters, no matter how safe a driver was. This did nothing to calm his nerves, but he tried to watch the area they passed through, not the traffic.

  
They took a turn onto another main road, just as heavily traveled, via an incredibly high, curving bridge that they must surely fall from, and then sped toward a series of spires grouped around a large bay. Sam pointed out the naval vessels across the bay, the military base, the airport, and several other sights. She took a turn off the road onto an almost calm side street, and soon pulled into a place of parked vehicles, across from which was an enormous expanse of paved something. Behind the fence, made of thick grey wire, he saw the approach of a large, awkward vehicle, ungainly and loud. Now he wished for the ear muffs she had used for shooting!

  
They watched as the huge thing waddlingly positioned itself, then increased the incredible noises until it shuddered with effort. His keen eyes saw faces in the row of windows on the thing, and he realized with awe and excitement, that this was a ‘plane’, ready to fly to the ends of the earth with its cargo of passengers. Then it began to roll, slowly, then faster, and it soon had a nose in the air, then seemed to leap skyward, thundering up into the day like some glorious dragon of myth. Morgan felt an awe and pride in his heart that mankind had learned to do such a magnificent thing.

  
“Got a long history, here in San Diego, of flight, aerospace,” Sam told him, as the world quieted again. “Lindberg’s plane was built here, the first to fly across the Atlantic. That island over there, Coronado, is half Naval Airstation, where the Navy keeps it’s jets and carriers, some of ‘em, Those big sheds, over there, those helped build the space program rockets that put men on the moon, sent probes and missiles out to the other planets. Got a nice museum, up in Balboa Park, but you’ll spend all day in it.”

  
“I just want to see one more,” he said, seeing another huge plane coming. “Where are they going, do you know?”

  
“That one says JAL, so probably Japan,” Sam said, amused. “Can spend all day watching these guys, too. And the train, when you get bored with planes. If you ever get back, and we do get to Hawaii, you’ll be on one of those. Some people don’t like to fly, of course, but it’s quite safe. Oh, now and then there’s an accident, or a hijack, but not often enough to be a problem. Security is very tight, the airlines are very careful with maintenance, the worst you usually experience are delays.”

  
Morgan watched the JAL liner take off, exactly as the first had done, and was again amazed. Japan! And almost instantly, too.

  
Then Sam drove sedately around the bay, letting him see boats and vessels, buildings and people, as they approached the forest of towers. He counted the windows on one, and found it was twenty stories high, and not the tallest, or largest, either. Sam drove with the traffic, and they passed through canyons made by men, not nature, which seemed to be remarkable only to him. She pulled into a building, an echoing cavern that seemed surely too low to fit into, and finally parked in a painted slot between two other vehicles.

  
“This is the parking area of Horton Plaza Mall,” she told him, getting out and locking up. “We’ll have a little walk through, maybe lunch, try to remember where we parked, and go back home, okay?”

  
“What is a mall?” he asked, seeming to see hundreds of different kinds of vehicles in the dimness. “A place to eat?”

  
“This is a shopping palace,” she told him, watching him keenly for any weakness or shortness of breath. “Over a hundred stores in one place, some big, some small, some for clothes, some have food, some have jewelry, some books, but you can sit and watch the people go by, if you get tired, and no one will think anything of it.”

  
“But, I don’t think I have the right kind of currency,” he said, as they stepped into the sunlight and a mass of people. Colors rioted around the place like a circus, a swirling madness with faint music and the noises of people. “All I have on me are a couple eagles and some silver. Will that work?”

  
“It’d get you about anything you want, if you sold ‘em to a coin dealer,” she told him, pulling a piece of brightly colored stuff from her red shoulder bag. “But I got plastic, so get whatever you want, doll. I have a specific in mind, but a little more won’t hurt. Within reason.”

  
“Ah,” he said, not quite understanding, but reassured that he could repay her, if he found something essential. He found that there were many shoe stores, quite a few clothing stores, and a few others that he didn’t quite know what to make of. The bookstore tempted him mightily, and Sam made good on her promise, handing him her ‘credit card’ without a word when he asked. He left with a small pocket history of the U.S., a copy of his ‘bio’ and a first aid handbook.

  
Sam used the same card in a store that had a fascinating array of mostly useless objects, many of them electronic. A chair that rubbed your back, a watch that sang to you, a device to dry your hair! The machine that made a glass curtain of bubbles was fascinating, as was the glass globe with tame lightning, but rather pointless. Art, Sam assured him, for the masses.


	6. Chapter 6

They ate lunch at a restaurant that looked out on the city, an ever-changing scene of people and vehicles. Sam pointed out several governmental buildings, the venerable U.S. Grant Hotel, named after a man Morgan had actually met. The food was good, and he ate all of it, but was shocked at the price, though Sam assured him it was quite reasonable. They wandered through a very interesting store about nature, imagine selling rocks! One on another floor with hats, one with hiking equipment and ‘outdoor’ clothes. Sam bought him another set of black levis, a black shirt in a sensuously soft fabric, and then found him a new cloak, silken and light, before they found their vehicle again.

  
“Sadly, no horse stuff,” she commented, as they left the ‘high-rise’ part of the city. “But you don’t need any horse gear, do you?”

  
“Not unless Midnight got hurt, and he looked fine to me yesterday,” the outlaw told her, staring at the soaring bridge that crossed the bay. “Dang, but these bridges make me nervous, Sam.”

  
“Yeah, but I want to show you the Fleet. See all the grey ships? Those are Navy ships. The biggest of the flat tops, the carriers, are crewed by about five thousand people, and a full load of planes. A country tends to think twice about irritating the U.S. with one of those off their coast. Most are getting old, though, and some people say missile cruisers and submarines are the way to go, now. Gotta adapt to the enemy, not to the last war, however, and so we still have a little of everything.”

  
“There are still wars? How sad,” he said, disappointed but not surprised. The nature of man was conflict, he had long ago concluded, mostly from direct observation. “But, they’re huge! You can’t have any forests left, after building such huge ships.”

  
“Oh, no, they’re almost entirely metal,” Sam told him, as they curved down toward earth once more. “No one builds wooden hulls, even for sport boats, these days. Fiberglass, rubber, steel, most of ‘em, since wood rots in salt water so easily. Now, we go back and you can look over the other direction, at the south bay area where all the real cargo and building activity goes on, besides the Navy stuff.”

  
They went back to the freeway, detouring to take a quick look at the Balboa Park museums, and the zoo, but only from the outside, in the truck. Nature called, however, and as they walked back through the trees from the restrooms, four thuggish young men moved to block them, looking like trouble. Morgan heard Sam chuckle.

  
“Okay, you two, hand over your cash and credit cards,” growled one, his skin pierced in a variety of places Morgan thought must be awkward. “Come on, or we’ll get nasty.”

  
“Oh, would you?" giggled Sam, putting a restraining hand on Morgan’s arm. “Let me get this, hon.”

  
“You want us to rough you up?” asked the most intelligent of the four, puzzled. “Come on, play nice and then call your insurance company, lady.”

  
“Ah, but I’m no tourist,” laughed Sam, clearly anticipating the conflict with glee. “And as Morgan just got over being shot, you’re all mine. However, fair’s fair, I should warn you, you need more guys.”

  
“Whatcha mean?” growled another, getting angry. “There’s four of us, and two of you.”

  
“Well, four to one is sucky odds, unless you all have black belts, too,” Sam told them earnestly. “In what? Judo, tai kwon do, karate?”

  
“Uh, no,” said the pierced youth, looking a bit worried. “Do you?”

  
“Sure,” she told him, moving in some stretching ways. “Judo, aikido, tai kwon do, kung fu and kendo. The kendo doesn’t count, as I’m not carrying a sword, of course. You want to do this one-on-one, or all at once?”

  
“She’s bluffing,” growled the pierced one. “She’s just a girl, anyway, good for nothing but blowing you when you’re hard. Joey, take the guy, we’ll do the bitch.”

  
“Ah, ah,” Sam warned, pleased to see Morgan slouch interestedly against a tree trunk. “Hands off my boyfriend, guys. This is just a friendly little fight, unless you do something to Morgan. Leave him out of it, and I won’t hurt you, much. Go after him, and I’ll consider this a serious fight, and then you’d better be paid up on _your_ insurance.”

  
“Bitch,” said the leader, and made a grab at Sam. He ended up face down on the grass, gasping for air. The silent one and ‘Joey’ tried next and somehow ended up landing heavily on their leader. The last one tried to cut her with a knife, but was soon sitting on the grass, sobbing as he held his clearly broken arm.

  
“Told you, you needed more guys,” said Sam cheerfully. “Want to try again?”

  
“What’s all this?” said an authoritative voice, one accompanied by hoof beats. “Sam, is that you? Did they reactivate Stalking Horse without telling me?”

  
“Hey, Jack, long time no see,” grinned Sam, tempted to knock the whiner out to shut him up. “Naw, these are just volunteers. Hey, Bailey, how are you? Being a good horse?”

  
“What, these guys tried to take you?” said the man, clearly a law officer of some sort, his dark bay horse sleek and polished. “Man, are you guys dumb. Bet they’re the guys robbed some tourists last week and then yesterday. You want to make a report? And what about this guy?”

  
“Morgan’s with me, Jack,” Sam told the officer. “Jack, Morgan, a good friend of mine I’m showing around before he leaves. Morgan, Jack, San Diego Police, Mounted Patrol, who learned how to ride from me and Bailey. I trained Bailey to do police work, you see, oh, three, four years ago. Good boy, Bailey.”

  
The horse had nuzzled Sam affectionately, once she’d left the now quiet thugs and moved back toward Morgan. The officer was a tall, good looking man, blond and tan, his uniform a navy blue, hung with various devices and a gun. The officer laughed.

  
“You boys sure picked the wrong girl to mug,” he told them, grinning. “This is the gal who caught, and permanently maimed, the Balboa Strangler. You must have caught her in a really good mood, none of you are dead, or even unconscious. Let me call it in and get transport, then.”

  
“Get off Bailey, and we’ll see if he remembers a little trick I taught him,” suggested Sam. The officer did so obediently, doing something arcane with the thing on his shoulder. “One of you guys try to get away, okay? I don’t think the horse’ll hurt you.”

  
“Uh, no, thanks,” groaned one, eyeing the horse suspiciously. “I’d rather go to jail, thanks.”

  
“Oh, come on,” wheedled Sam, petting the horse on his neck. “I taught Bailey to ‘hold’ and to ‘fetch’. Let me see if he remembers the trick, okay?”

  
“Nope, stayin’ right here,” mumbled the four, or words to that effect. “What happened to the guy who shot yer boyfriend?”

  
“Dead, of course,” shrugged Sam, casually. “I wasn’t feeling kindly toward them. Jack, you okay with me leaving? We got a schedule, kinda. You got my number, if you need anything, right?”

  
“Sure, go ahead,” the big cop told her, having finished talking to the device on his shoulder that had talked back to him in strange codes and a tinny woman’s voice. “Central’s sending a car, we can take ‘em over to the curb, there and wait. Come on, you, get up and go over to the curb, nice and slow. Help your pal, there, good, oh, look, one’s trying to run.”

  
“Bailey, fetch!” Sam said sharply. The sleek horse trotted after the man, the silent one in leather, and quickly caught up to him. Strong teeth grabbed a mouth full of leather jacket and the two hundred pound man, screaming in terror, kicking and flailing, was carried back to Sam’s feet and dropped. “Good boy, Bailey!”

  
The officer was howling with laughter, and finally found a cookie for the expectant horse. None of the others tried to escape, and Sam drove away while the four sat sullenly on the low curb, Jack waving and grinning.

  
Fascinated by the tidbits of her past, Morgan pried the story of the ‘Balboa Strangler’ from Sam as they drove back toward the ranch. It seemed that Sam had been training police horses some years back, and there had been a maniac who killed women in the park, difficult to catch and very unpleasant. Sam admitted that he had raped most of his victims both before and after killing them. Having a great deal of martial arts training, and in Morgan’s estimation, courage, Sam had made bait of herself and the bait had been taken. In the fight, she had so badly mangled the man’s testicles that they had had to be removed, along with some of his penis. He was currently awaiting death in prison, an eunuch and a much more manageable prisoner. Sam had been anonymous by her own request, but celebrated by the public and media anyway, as the mysterious ‘She-wolf of San Diego.’ She had remained anonymous because more than a few women, and men, of this age could do the things she had, barehanded.

  
“Well, it’s pretty stupid to try something like that in this town,” Sam told Morgan as they pulled into a lot next to a store that sold guns. “This place is crawling with retired military, SEALs, Olympic athletes and competitive martial artists. You can get lucky a few times, but eventually you’ll run across someone like me. Or you, or Cal. Punks should behave themselves better around here.”

  
“Well, most bad men aren’t very smart,” Morgan said, getting out of the truck and stretching. It hardly hurt at all. “And if they weren’t basically lazy, they’d get work. Stupidity is it’s own reward, often enough. Why are we here? You don’t need another gun, do you?”

  
“No, I want more ammo for yours, if they have any, and to see what kind of surplus they have on hand,” Sam said, not bothering to lock the doors this time. “No fighting in here, now, it’s run by one of my old teachers, and she takes no guff from anyone.”

  
“Yes, Ma’am, no guff,” said Morgan, expecting an older, school-teacher type of woman, matronly and stern. Instead, the woman was small, slender, perhaps ten years older than Sam, and oriental. The patrons all treated her with respect that bordered on awe, even the hefty, tattooed men in black leathers. Sam bowed to her on entering, then drew Morgan down aisle after aisle of fascinating things.

  
There were knives, some quite impractical-looking, others very cleverly made, bows of a strange, ugly, but powerful type, camping gear, survival gear, food in packages, tents, clothes, bedrolls, and more. And there were guns, hundreds of guns, all secured by various means. Rifles, pistols, things Sam identified as machine guns, scopes, cases, targets and ammunition. The prices seemed quite outrageous, however, and he had to keep reminding himself how much their lunch had cost. This age was expensive.


	7. Chapter 7

They left with several boxes of ammunition, a first aid kit that was more complete than some surgeries Morgan had seen, and several hand held light devices. Sam had also chosen several knives she thought Morgan and Blue Hawk might find useful, several food packets and two ‘thermal’ blankets, which sounded strange to Morgan.

  
“Going camping, Sam?” asked the small Asian woman at the counter as they made their purchases. “And who is your handsome friend?”

  
“Yeah, sorta,” grinned Sam, handing over the plastic card again. “Jennifer, Morgan, Morgan, Jennifer. Hunting trip, kinda.”

  
“You don’t hunt anything but rodents,” Jennifer said perceptively, “unless they’re the two-legged rodents. You need help?”

  
“No, I think we’re fine with that,” said Sam seriously. “Morgan’s got some experience in that line of work, so we’re just topping up the supplies. Should be a fun trip.”

  
“Yeah, he looks like it,” smiled the woman, admiring Morgan boldly. “You bring him back in one piece, we’ll go to lunch or dinner somewhere, okay?”

  
“Well, I’ll try,” said Sam, as they left. Sam drove them sedately through the thick traffic to their destination, now seeming an oasis of peace. Morgan carried their purchases up into the house as Sam fed the horses. The prices on things, added up, were quite worrisome. Was Sam going to beggar herself for his sake? Just that day she had spent over a thousand dollars, he calculated. He asked her about that, when she came in.

  
“Oh, I have a little left,” she assured him, not seeming worried. “True, I’m no Bruce Wayne, but I do get paid for my writing, and the horses’ board pays for their feed and such. Don’t worry, I wasn’t just throwing it away.”

  
“This age is so expensive,” he commented, as he set the table for her. “What are wages like, these days?”

  
“Hmm, fast food worker, minimum wage, about six dollars an hour, I think,” she told him. “Sheriff’s clerk, about thirty-five thou a year, a good lawyer about a hundred fifty thou a year, the cop we met about sixty thou a year, I think. I can pull up more accurate figures on the computer, if you want.”

  
“No, an estimate is fine,” he assured her, relieved. Money was just worth less, he decided, now that everyone had it. “I just wondered, since lunch like we had today, would have been a dollar in my time.”

  
“The world changes, but not unrecognizably?” she asked, throwing things into the pot on the stove. “Life moves faster, it seems, is more complex, but still has its pleasures, rewards. One of which I intend to experience tonight, by the way. Or possibly, I suppose, make you experience, heh. Now, you want water, iced tea or milk with your dinner?”

  
The evening went smoothly, the food good, the subsequent sex fantastic, in Morgan’s opinion. He was exquisitely gentle and slow with his lover, doing his best to control their pace, extend their pleasures. It was difficult, now that he felt so much better, not to simply cover her like a stud bull on a cow in heat, but he managed, his iron will serving them both very well. Sam was careful of his still-tender injuries, but pronounced him more or less healed, his blood restored, his strength quite sexually exciting. Actually, she admitted, his head on her breast at last, she found virtually all of him sexually exciting, and was going to regret letting him leave.

  
“Well, you could just ‘forget’ where the rift is,” he told her softly, having spent himself in her three times that night. “And, you may be stuck with me, if it isn’t there anymore. Then you’d have an extra hand around the place until I could find a job, I reckon. Seems to me you could use one, maybe two.”

  
“And I repeat, darling,” she whispered in his hair, “you, Hawk, any horses, wives, brothers, children, friends or pets, are always welcome here, if you can get back someday. I don’t care if all you show up in are the clothes on your back. Actually, naked would be excellent, if that option showed itself, since it leads to such nice results.”

  
“You’d take in any number of others, with no jobs, no skills, no money?” he asked her, touched. He had plans that would make her rich enough to be able to be so generous, but she didn’t know that. “You are so kind, my sweet one. Wouldn’t your absent room mate object?”

  
“No, Brooke would like you,” chuckled Sam. “And your horses, but most especially, I expect she’ll like Hawk. She’s always loved anything Indian, and she has an eye out for a good man, and isn’t seeing anyone right now.”

  
They slept quite peacefully in each others arms, and woke early the next morning, Sam quickly had the chores done, the trailer hitched, and the horses loaded. Morgan, again in the passenger seat, watched their directions closely, marking terrain and landmarks carefully. When Sam pulled off to park and unload the horses, he made a careful study of their position. Sam saddled her mare quickly, the meager saddle bags filled and topped with the thermal blanket. Her belt was hung with gun, cell phone, GPS and knife, her head topped with a black, velvet covered helmet, her body in a shell-like vest.

  
She watched him rig out Midnight, her mare at her back like a guard dog. Into his hand she put a small device of black with a dial, a pattern of holes and two buttons. She held a twin.

  
“This is a two-way radio,” she told him, pointing at the thing. “It’s solar powered, so if you let it sit out in the sunlight, it’ll recharge. Range of three miles, it said, though I’d bet on two. Line of sight only. Push this button down and talk into it, I’ll hear on this one. That knob is for loudness, twist left for quieter, right for louder. To signal without noise, turn it all the way down, then hold down the talk button. The other unit will vibrate, letting the other end know what’s happening.”

  
“Ah, they don’t work across time, do they?” he asked, taking the little miracle and putting it in a vest pocket. He didn’t intend to let Sam out of his sight until time separated them.

  
“No, but you and Hawk may find uses for them,” she told him with a grin. “Now, let’s go see if the rift is still there. Might just be going home with me, after all.”

  
The two mounted and rode through the oak and pine trees, scattered granite boulders and chaparral scrub.Sam checked her GPS now and then, finally coming to the proper spot, marked still by a rag of fading black cloth. The faint trail she’d made with her last passage of two laden horses was nearly invisible, but she saw a gun barrel in the sandy soil, too.

  
“If we head that way,” she told him, pointing, “and my GPS craps out, stops working, you’re back in your own time. You gonna want to check on the miners?”

  
“I think I should,” agreed Morgan, swiftly putting on his cloak and mask, a transformation that made Sam want to pull him from his horse and have him right there. “I’m still not sure you should go with me, Sam. What if you get stuck back then? What will happen to all your horses?”

  
“I left a note for Brooke, if I’m not able to get back tonight. But I’ll get back. Now, let’s try this out.”

  
Sure enough, with Midnight’s nose on Kumara’s tail, the GPS beeped on the spot Sam had set, then died a ‘no signal’ death. Sam pocketed the thing and urged her gallant old mare into the late 1800s. The first thing Sam noticed was that the bodies were gone. They had not been gone long, the outlaw informed her, after a brief look at the ground. A recent rain had left sign plain and easily read. Someone had taken the bodies away in a wagon, back toward the mines, probably only the day before.

  
“Let’s hurry,” suggested Sam, as they trotted in the tracks of the wagon. “Be nice to be home before dark, able to feed.”

  
“Your old hoss up to that?” asked the Masked Rider, his accent back, now that he was back in costume. He admitted to himself that the coppery mare seemed in no distress. Sam was riding easily, her reins loose on the mare’s neck. Sam laughed and the mare took up a smooth gallop, not at all strained, Sam over her shoulders and balanced. Morgan was impressed as Midnight surged to keep up without directions. “How fast is she?”

  
Sam laughed again and crouched lower over the mare’s neck and the black pair were suddenly in a small dust cloud, as they fell behind. Try as Midnight might, he could not catch up to the flying thoroughbred, an impressive feat, considering the stallion’s legendary speed. When they reached the end of the long valley, Sam sat up and slowed her mare, and the outlaw saw the horse shake her head in mild protest, still wanting to run. A pat on her neck made the mare give in, however, and they pulled back to a trot once more.

  
“Yuh weren’t funnin’ me ‘bout her speed,” he said in admiration. The mare was hardly even damp, breathing a little harder than usual, but no harder than Midnight, her veins and muscles were clearly defined on her glossy hide. They rode quietly until they reached the area of the mines, then walked, alert for trouble. There were boulders tumbled everywhere, like carelessly strewn marbles, some big enough to hide a dozen men on horseback. They got to the mine itself, and Morgan stayed back in cover, as Sam rode to the first miner she saw.

  
“Hi, you had any trouble with robbers and such lately?” she asked, stopping the mare at a polite distance. “I heard there were bandits up here I should be careful of.”

  
“Uh, not since the Masked Rider drove off a half dozen varmints last week, ma’am,” said the fellow, a burly, dust covered fellow who had been getting a drink at a stream. “Old Joe found the bodies down yonder a couple days ago, and fetched ‘em to Julian for burial yesterday. Shouldn’t be many left, though you shouldn’t be riding about alone, no how.”

  
“Oh, I’m not alone,” she told him, smiling. “Got my horse, got my gun, got the Masked Rider, what more could a girl need?”

  
“Well, ma’am, if’n you got that black devil with you, I ‘spect you don’t need to worry ‘bout no banditos,” grinned the miner. “Don’t s’pose you an’ he’d like to stay for supper?”

  
“’Fraid not,” she laughed, and her mare snorted and pawed the ground. “Places to go, things to do, people to see, you know. Recognize any of the dead men?”

  
“Low life bar scum from Julian,” snorted the miner, and spat. “Too stupid to try claim jumping, or too lazy, or both. Honest work don’t suit ‘em, an’ word got ‘round that we were doin’ alright. Got ourselves a feller to keep lookout now, so we won’t likely have such trouble again. ‘Specially as them fools died tryin’, and got buried where their kind could see ‘em. Scare some into real work, I reckon.”

  
Sam departed to meet Morgan in the little draw he’d waited in, and reported the miner’s words.

  
“And historical records I looked up back home seem to back him up. No real crime happens up here about gold and mining until the mid-twentieth century after this. It’s not a huge mining area, but it supports both gold mining and tourmaline mining on the small scale. Probably because of the limited water, just like everything else in Southern California.”

  
“Then you might as well go back, if you can, Sam,” he told her, reluctantly. “I don’t think this era’s quite ready for someone like you! Not that you wouldn’t be a right interesting trail compadre, but I can’t see you fitting in much with the way women are expected to act in this day and age. Some fool’d demand you cook for him, or go back and stay out of danger and you’d throw ‘im through a window.”

  
“Ah, and someone has to take care of my horses,” she agreed, very sadly. “I meant what I said, though, handsome. You and Hawk, and anyone you bring will always be welcome, if you can move up time.”

  
“Oh, I ain’t about to forget that kind of invitation,” he said, as they trotted back toward the rift. “But a man can’t go off and leave a pard like Hawk, without an explanation or nothin’, and he’d love to hear all about it, anyhow. ‘Sides, I plan on startin’ a financial empire after this, and retiring rich and healthy to write that book.”

  
“Yeah, that book,” sighed Sam, remembering that the supposed author had died old and respected. And childless. “Too bad for me your plans involve that book. You are not going to be replaced in my affections, I can tell you that. I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else as much as I love you. And I don’t expect I’ll ever get that kind of sex again. Darn, we’re here. Kiss me one last time, Morgan.”

  
“I’ll be true to you, my love,” he whispered in her ear as they leaned close. “And I’ll be back, you’ll see. Now, go, before I change my mind and make your horses starve.”

  
Sam rode through the invisible rift, having pressed the other walkie talkie into his hand, tears almost blinding her. Kumara took her up the steep slope faithfully, and the beep of her GPS told her that they had again leapt forward in time. Wouldn’t she have a wild tale to tell Brooke, when she returned.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam went home, fed the horses and went back to her routine, sadly without her wonderful lover. She dreamed of him at night, often pleasuring herself while imagining him, remembering him. Brooke listened to Sam’s tale in some disbelief, but a photo and the evidence convinced her. Brooke lived a fairly unbelievable life herself, so Sam’s tale didn’t seem quite so odd as others might have found it. The fact that Sam, who found most men annoying, stupid or incompetent, had found someone worth her time was enough for Brooke to believe most of it. And the picture of Midnight was just the icing on the cake. No one with a horse like that could be all that bad.

  
So, for a few weeks, everything went back to the usual spring routine, and the two women lived in comfortable silence about the time rift. A large building project started next door, the ranch a very large one, part of the old ranchero system, still in business, yet run by a company, not an actual resident owner. The new building was to be an impressive stone edifice, large, low and comfortable, backing on the edge of the forest, and on a slope that looked out over the property and all around the valley. A barn, too, was going in, and it was almost of more interest to the two women than the house. It was an interesting thing to watch, and they speculated about who would be moving in, or who would buy it.

  
Sam and Brooke, like the rest of the few inhabitants of the area, had no information on the owners, or the intentions, so they kept up their own lives. One afternoon, with Brooke away at a show, Sam was using a circular saw to cut a piece of plywood for a stall. The noise kept her from hearing them behind her, and six men managed to subdue her at last. Two had sustained broken bones in the process, and they took their revenge by beating her badly, raping her almost casually, and using her in a trap.

  
Sam fought to stay conscious, using the pain to fight the rest of senselessness. She hung by her wrists in the tack room of the barn, naked and brutalized. Her left eye was swollen shut, blood marked much of her bruised body, and she felt filthy from the repeated rapes. She was sure her nose was broken, and she wasn’t sure about her shoulder. Her hands were completely numb. It was after dark, she was sure, though they’d left one light on, that she heard someone coming.

  
They came on horses, however, not in a truck and trailer, which Brooke would have done. Sam’s brain worked on that, slower than she would have liked. A low voice came, and the sound of footsteps. Surely she was now hallucinating, thought Sam, as there stood her lover, all in black, looking horrified. Still, must tell whoever it really was.

  
“Hawk, get in here!” he commanded in an urgent tone, but not loudly. “Help me get her down!”

  
“No, get the bomb disarmed first,” she told them, slurring her words through swollen lips. “It’s a trap for Brooke, she’s supposed to come home soon and find me. Over by the door, the thing that looks like clay, with the timer on it. Stuff is harmless without the detonator. Make sure it’s out. Wrap the clay in something and bury it, crush the detonator, we’ll be okay.”

  
Unable to tell if the hallucinations were listening, Sam felt her hands burn with returning circulation, her body cradled like a child in someone’s arms. Low voices spoke, but she was struggling to remain awake.

  
“Sam, how many were there?” came that urgent voice, so much like Morgan’s. “Where are they?”

  
“Probably watching for Brooke to drive up, set it off remotely,” she mumbled. “Six of the bastards, two with broken arms. They didn’t feel like rape, heh.”

  
“Hawk,” said that voice grimly, “find them. Kill them. All of them.”

  
“Si, Senor,” said someone and a kiss touched her forehead. “I like your woman, she has courage.”

  
The arms that held her were gentle, strong, and she felt safe, so she was probably dying. Her beloved Morgan could not possibly have found his partner and returned to California in only a month. Still, it did smell like him, feel like him, sound like him.

  
“Sam, we have to stay here,” he told her softly, “until Hawk kills those damned cowards. Where do you hurt most, tell me.”

  
“Is that you, doll? Really?” she asked, trying to make her body obey her. “Not a dream?”

  
“No, it’s really me, Sam,” he told her, amazed that even in this state, she was careful not to use his name. “Not a dream, and not leaving, ever again.”

  
“In that case, I can pass out,” she said, and did.

  
Morgan was torn between horror and a crazy chuckle. He recklessly tossed saddle pads into an untidy heap on the cement floor with one hand and gently laid her on them. He covered her bruised, bloody body with a clean horse blanket and began inspecting her injuries. The face was badly bruised, but did not seem permanently damaged, could he get her some cold therapy for the nose and cheek. The lip would heal, he was certain, and all her teeth seemed solidly seated. The shelf and cabinet on the wall drew his eye and he opened the cabinet to find a tiny ice box. He used the bags of frozen stuff to pack around her face, held by a soft bandage of royal blue.

  
The wrists he carefully cleaned and bandaged, for the ropes had torn the skin badly. The bruises on the rest of her would have to wait for a proper bath, and he cringed inside at the idea of where she would need the most cleaning. He was gently cleaning blood from her left leg when Hawk returned, his eyes hard behind a prisoner. The man stumbled and whimpered, his arms lashed behind him, trying to avoid the bloody knife that prodded him onward.

  
“Thought we might want questions answered, Senor,” growled the Yaqui, cuffing the man to the ground. He tied him securely, uncomfortably. The man looked like a Mexican bandito, to Morgan, who shrugged, wanting only vengeance for the harm done to Sam, so brutally. “And I will ask, even if you and the Senorita have none.”

  
“You’re probably thinking clearer than I am right now, Hawk,” said the masked outlaw, feeling the urge to tear this man apart with his bare hands. “You sure you got all of ‘em?”

  
“Yes, Senor,” nodded Hawk, cleaning his knife on the prisoner’s shirt, then beginning to cut the clothes from his body. “I can bury them in the morning, if you like. Maybe I let this one dig graves, including his own.”

  
“Then I’m gonna take Sam into the house and get her cleaned up some,” he said, carefully picking her up, wrapped in the blanket and the cold packs. “You find out all you can from this snake, Hawk, and I’ll come out in a bit.”

  
“No, Senor,” objected Hawk, pulling away the last of the captive’s clothing. “When I have found out all I can, I will let you know, You stay with the Senorita, make her comfortable. This assassin and I have much to discuss and all night to discuss it. It has been years since you allowed me to question someone in the old ways, and I must do it properly.”

  
“Have your fun, then,” said the Masked Rider, no sympathy in his heart for the naked rapist at all. “Don’t scare the room mate, Brooke, when she shows up. As she’s a friend of Sam’s, she might do more than just scream. She might try to shoot you or something.”

  
Some minutes later, the outlaw was running water into the big tub in Sam’s bathroom, and quickly divested himself of all his own clothing, as well. He laid his guns on the edges of the marble basin and slid into the water with her in his arms. She never moved of her own accord as he cleaned her with soft soap and a hand towel. Her body was showing livid bruises, scrapes and a few cuts, but was breathing easily, not in shock or badly broken. Her facial swelling was down somewhat, and he cleaned her face and hair as well. He did his best to rinse and clean her sexual parts, relieved to see nothing torn or swollen there. He put her into her own bed, fresh bandages on her wrists and a towel under her wet hair, kissing her softly as she lay in quiet splendor. He tucked the sheets and blankets up under her chin and stroked her less swollen cheek.

  
He wondered where Brooke was, what had luckily delayed her long enough for them to arrive. A big machine like a truck and horse trailer, arriving after dark, lights and engine blaring, would have signaled the ambushers to set off their trap, probably killing both women. A pair of riders in the dark had escaped their notice, and now measures would need to be taken, if there were others involved. Sam had said little about her friend Brooke, but, like Sam, she might have both powerful friends and enemies. Who might wish a woman dead so horribly as to method and so desperately as to hire half a dozen thugs? A former lover, a husband? He rummaged briefly in the kitchen for food and made several cold meat sandwiches, wrapped them in foil and pulled out his radio.

  
That radio had seen much use, he reflected, and had kept he and Hawk both alive more than once. The case was scratched, the short antenna bent, but it was still functional. He clicked the button twice to let Hawk know he was ready to talk. A moment more and Hawk replied.

  
“Senor?” there was whimpering audible in the background.

  
“Got some food for yuh, Hawk,” he told his old friend. “Yuh find out anything interesting?”

  
“Yes, Senor,” said the voice, and the whimpering became a brief scream. “I have taken the bushwhacker away from the buildings and horses, into the trees where his friends are. Sadly, I think he will not be able to dig for me. I will come back soon, I think, in maybe another few hours. I will not be so hungry that I must stop for a while, yet.”

  
“Well, I’m getting’ worried some other coyotes mighta done something to Brooke, since she ain’t here yet,” said Morgan, now wearing his non-Masked Rider clothes, which had been fairly clean. “Don’t seem like these jaspers expected her to be so late. I put the sandwiches in the icebox of the kitchen, in foil, if you get in late.”

  
“I will remember, Senor,” the Yaqui said, the sounds now sobs behind him. “The horses?”

  
“I’m gonna go take care of ‘em now,” the outlaw told his friend, and put the radio back in his pocket. The horses, patiently waiting where they’d been left, were quickly unsaddled and left together in the smaller arena, a tub of water already inside showing that it was used that way often. Morgan threw flakes of grass hay around to let them eat, and set the packs and saddles in a corner of the tack room. He also put the pads he’d scattered for Sam back, and replaced the blanket he’d wrapped her in. Nothing had been bled on, as far as he could tell, and he went back into the house to check on his beloved.

  
He sat looking at her for some time, feeling a kind of overwhelming comfort that he was, again, in her presence, near her. He also felt a deep boiling rage that she had been hurt as a mere sideline to another woman’s intended death. And such a cowardly way to kill two such women, he added to himself, having made certain the clay-like explosive had been rendered harmless, wrapped in a rag and buried at the base of a far tree.

  
He waited patiently, doing small things around her, quietly, alert for any sound from her, any stirring. He finally chose a book and settled into a chair by her bedside, determined to be ready when she awoke. How well fate liked them both, he reflected, that time itself had been sundered to bring them together. Not only together, but to each other’s rescue, as if the good deeds each had done, expecting no rewards, had forced an uncaring universe to balance the debt. What did the Hindus call it? Karma?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adventures in bathing

Far past midnight, indeed, nearer dawn, she finally woke, her quick, almost frightened intake of breath like a trumpet in the stillness. He had left the lamp by her bed on, not bright, but giving good visibility. She focused on him immediately, though one eye remained puffy and less open. He had some hope that she would not be afraid of him, but he knew that rape victims often feared any man after their abuse. He very much hoped she would not fear him, but resolved to accept that, if it happened.

  
“How are you feeling, Sam?” he asked softly, kneeling beside the bed. “I did my best, but I know it probably hurts.”

  
“Ah, am I dreaming?” she mumbled, one hand groping its way toward him. He took it in his own big, rough hand and held it to his lips to kiss, then against his face, roughening with beard now. “No, it’s really you, Morgan, isn’t it? Where’s Brooke? And didn’t I see Hawk?”

  
“Hawk is out taking care of a loose end,” Morgan told her, pleased at her quick grasp of things. “I don’t know where Brooke is, she didn’t come last night. Is it possible she was ambushed elsewhere?”

  
“Not like her not to call,” said Sam, apparently trying to move and failing in pain. “Sore, sore, ow. Uh, the phone in the living room, by the computer, does it have a blinking light?”

  
“I’ll go see,” he told her, starting to rise, then checking. “What if it does?”

  
“Push the round button on the right side of the phone, near the bottom,” she told him, eyes closed as she mastered the pain of her battered body. Imagine, she told herself sternly, that you were thrown from a horse. “She probably left a message.”

  
“Just a moment, Sam,” he told her, quickly and silently vanishing into darkness. From the bedroom she heard only a muffled sound, in the quiet of the early morning, but he came back soon, and again knelt by the bedside, smiling.

  
“She had some kind of trouble with her tires,” he reported. “She says she will return late today, having had to wait for the correct tire size. It is nearly morning, and Hawk and I have taken care of the men, never fear. You go back to sleep, Sam, rest, we will make sure no one else tries to hurt you, hurt your friend.”

  
“Feed the horses, too?” she mumbled, her eyes closing, apparently believing him, in him. She didn’t flinch as he tucked her hand under the covers once more, which was encouraging. “What about the bodies?”

  
“Hawk and me’ll bury ‘em,” he promised, kissing her forehead with care. “And I think we’ll figure out how to feed your horses, Sam. We may not know how to drive autos, but we can feed horses. Do you want to drink something, go to the bathroom, or anything? I’ll help you, Sam, just as you did for me.”

  
“How long was it for you?” she asked, eyes closed as she lay there, battered but unbroken in spirit. “I mean, it’s only been a month ago, here. Were you able to find Hawk and come back in only a month?”

  
“Oh, it’s been three years for us,” he told her, surprised. Still, who knew anything about time travel, space-time rifts? “Lots of time to do what we had to do, clean up loose ends, set things in motion. A manuscript written, hidden, in the right place, arrangements made with various legal firms, some trustworthy folk. Stuff that never got into that book, by the way. I’ll tell you all about it, when you feel like hearin’ it, Sam. Now, try to sleep, please?”

  
“Okay,” she sighed, and soon appeared to be asleep once more. Morgan was pleased she felt able to sleep, with him in the room, so close. It indicated a great deal of trust, he thought, besides the need to heal. He was still angry at the people who had done this to her, and promised himself that he would avenge her over and above the six lives already forfeit. Carefully, he left her, moving silently out into the house, finding Hawk just coming up the path to the kitchen door. He let the Yaqui inside and wordlessly handed him the promised sandwiches, and filled two cups of water for them both from the sink. They sat at the sturdy table and left the lights off, as dawn was now lightening the skies.

  
“Senor, how is the Senorita?” asked Hawk, before he started on the bread and ham. “Has she spoken yet?”

  
“She was awake for a few minutes,” the outlaw told his friend. “Brooke’ll be back tonight, she had some tire trouble, lucky for her. Sam wants the horses fed, so I guess we’re her new ranch hands. Says it’s only been a month since I was here, so I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to go back.”

  
“No need to go back,” said the Yaqui, pleased with the food. “We have work to do here, it seems. Nice horses, good woman to protect. What if more come? The man spoke of a ‘cartel’ before he died, it seems to be a big, organized gang. By threatening your woman, they make themselves our meat, I think.”

  
“You’re right, Hawk,” agreed Morgan, noting that there was not the slightest sign of blood or dirt on the Indian's clothing. “He say why they wanted to kill Brooke?”

  
“She is ‘ex-wife’ of a man high in the cartel,” said the Yaqui, starting on the second sandwich. “He does not like paying her money that he owes her, fears she will tell the law about his business and his crimes. He feels he will be richer and safer if he kills her. He is living in Mexico, so the American law cannot touch him. It does not seem that much has changed, Senor.”

  
“Wouldn’t be the first time we gone down south an’ took care of some polecat,” shrugged Morgan, agreeing. “And our gal has friends, too, who might be less than pleased about this here cartel. Well, the bodies all buried? Or do we do that before feeding?”

  
“No, bodies are all buried, Senor,” the Yaqui told him, serenely confident that that was the end of that. “You want help with the horses?”

  
“Naw, you stay in here with Sam, I’ll feed the horses,” said Morgan, as his old friend finished. “Want me to show you around first?”

  
“Si, senor, I should clean my hands, at least, before I go near the Senorita,” said Hawk, shrugging. “If I need to help her, it would be best to have no trace of those men on me. Did she say how she was taken? I know you saw her take four men by herself in the park, you have told me the tale often.”

  
“No, but she might have been doing something noisy, something with that wood was outside her shed,” he guessed. “I’ll be cautious, Hawk, and armed. Now, about the plumbing….”

  
Thus it was Blue Hawk who was present when Sam woke the second time, just past dawn. Weak, stiff and sore she needed to use the bathroom, and rather urgently. Her determined effort to get out of bed, naked and heedless of her pain, not having seen him, quite won Blue Hawk’s heart. He moved silently to her aid, her only sign of surprise a widening of her eyes, one still somewhat swollen. Wordlessly, he helped her out of bed, to the bathroom, then back to the bed, her breathing heavy with effort.

  
“Thank you,” she said, when he’d carefully tucked her bruised and battered body back into bed. “You must be Blue Hawk, Morgan’s partner. Welcome to the Twenty-first Century, I guess. I’m Samantha Grey, Sam to my friends. Have either of you had any sleep?”

  
“Most pleased to meet you, Senorita,” he told her with an almost courtly bow. “And we will sleep when our tasks are done, not before. Can I do anything further to help you feel any better? Water, food? The Senor is feeding your horses, and will be back soon, I believe. And one of us will be with you at all times, to help you, should you require it. I should also add that I am very grateful that you saved his life some years back, and also renewed his spirit so wonderfully. He has been far happier since that day, his soul much healed, it seems to me.”

  
“The man shot down right in front of me,” said Sam, exhausted by her brief foray. “What was I to do, let a man with a horse like Midnight die? No. I had to help him, and he might have done alright without me, he has the constitution of a mule.”

  
“He told me he was badly wounded, and that you saved him,” Hawk told her, taking a chair near her bed and moving it so he could squat on his heels beside her. “I do not think he meant only the physical wounds, Senorita. His soul began to heal after he met you, and it had been broken and wounded since before I met him. He loves you very much, and how could he not? You are strong and wise, brave and loyal, very beautiful, as well. Do you love him, too?”

  
“Oh, yes, I love him,” she sighed, her eyes closing against her will. “So sweet, both of you. Sorry, I’m falling asleep again.”

  
“She is very nice, Senor,” the Yaqui told his friend a little later, as Wayne Morgan washed up in the bathroom off the hall. “Badly bruised, harshly treated, but unbroken, I think. She will recover quickly, now that she has you here. The swelling is going down nicely, it seems, and her main problem will be soreness, stiff muscles, and the danger of becoming pregnant by those evil men.”

  
“She told me they got that licked up here in the future, Hawk,” Morgan told his friend, feeling a desire to sleep, not in her arms, but in her presence. “And that bath tub of hers’ll be good for her sore muscles, once she feels like getting’ up. Hot water, a little massage, all she’ll have left is bruises and a bad memory. I hope. Now, I mean to sleep in her room, on the floor, in case she needs me. You?”

  
“On her porch, I think,” the Yaqui said with a smile. “Should anyone come, I will wake you.”

  
“Yeah, that’s a good arrangement for now,” nodded Morgan. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then, Hawk. Eventually, you’ll have to get used to sleepin’ inside, mind.”

  
The Yaqui’s snort of amusement followed Morgan back into Sam’s room, and he slept soundly at the foot of the bed, with only a blanket and a pillow. It wasn’t cold, after all, and there were no rocks, scorpions, cactus or other hazards to avoid. The three of them slept until Sam woke near noon, and at least Hawk and Morgan felt refreshed and alert. Sam was still stiff and sore, but now also thirsty, and hungry. Her near fall out of bed, in an attempt to get up, alerted Morgan to her state of consciousness.

  
“Sam!” he exclaimed in horror, “wait a minute, will you? You have too many bruises as it is!”

  
“Morgan?” she mumbled, her dry mouth, swollen lip and unused vocal chords slurring her words. “I kept thinking I heard you, but I always dream of you. Ah, so stiff, damn them.”

  
“Wait, let’s put a robe on you, dear,” he told her, settling her on the edge of the bed with gentle strength. “It will keep your muscles a little bit warmer, and we’ll feed you, then see if we can ease the stiffness a little. Hawk and me, we’ve learned a few tricks over the years.”

  
“Get me to the bathroom first, please,” she asked, as he helped her on with the dark blue terry robe. “Some Advil won’t be a bad thing, either.”

  
As they made their way toward the kitchen, Morgan the steadying arm as Sam hobbled in determined slowness, Hawk appeared on silent feet, and held a chair for Sam at the table. She groaned in more irritation than pain, frustratedly aware that Morgan would have no desire to touch her in this state. Gallant soul that he was, he would likely be willing to wait until the bruises faded, or even longer, before agreeing to any sexual escapades. Even begging would be unlikely to move his chivalrous heart, she was certain, but she meant to try. 

  
“Now, Sam, what can we do for, hmm, lunch, I guess it’ll be?” Morgan asked, after getting a glass of water for her. “Brooke said this evening, so we got plenty of time to see about getting you into better condition. After all, being retired now, I have nothing better to do than pamper my fiancé.”

  
“Fiance?” she said, raising an eyebrow, the one above the better eye. “Me? Doll, after what happened last night, did I miss something?”

  
“No, I did,” he told her, as Hawk glided about the kitchen opening doors, drawers, and then began to assemble the makings of a meal. “All the last three years, I missed you, thought of you, hoped I’d see you again, Sam. I made plans, settled things, and then we came in last night and all the plans went up in smoke. Well, some of ‘em. Sam, will you marry me?”

  
“Morgan, I’d marry you if you’d asked me last night,” she told him, surprised. “Of course, we might want to wait until we find out if those bastards gave me any nasty diseases. Hate to pass something like that on, though I’ve had all my shots.”

  
“I would be more concerned about pregnancy, Senorita,” Hawk said softly, settling sandwiches before them both, and sitting down across from her. “Such creatures should not be allowed to live, let alone breed.”

  
“Oh, that’s not gonna happen,” Sam assured them both. “I’m already pregnant, and I don’t think a month-old fetus is gonna be bothered by a little activity.”

  
“You’re already pregnant?” asked Morgan, euphoric about her agreement, but stunned by this news. “By whom?”

  
“You, silly,” she told him with a grin. “I decided, since I might never see you again, I’d keep a little piece of you, if I could. When was I ever going to run across a better man, after all? And you should hear my mother, dear, she’s been pushing me to make her a grandmother for years. An actual husband will send her into fits of joy, you watch.”

  
“You’re carrying a baby?” he asked, still whipsawed with emotional shocks, but mostly pleasant ones. “A child? Our baby? Sam, that’s wonderful, but we can’t wait, then. You can’t get married too late, it’ll look bad. Who do you know that can marry us now?”

  
“Slow down, doll,” she laughed softly. “I can’t get married looking like this, either. It’d look like I was coerced into it, or at least that you beat me. You don’t want my family to think that, believe me.”

  
“No, but you can tell them what happened, can’t you?” Morgan asked, seeing her point. At least she seemed able to eat easily enough. “Those ambushers, what they did to you, won’t they understand?”

  
“Morgan, darling, my father is a Federal Judge,” Sam told him seriously. “And he would understand, as a father. But Hawk killed those men, didn’t he?”

  
“Yes, and tortured one of them, besides,” agreed Morgan, grimly certain he’d have done a much more thorough job of it, had he had the chance. “We needed to know what was going on, and you weren’t in a state that we could ask. Should we have just let them go? I couldn’t have done that.”

  
“No, I don’t think you, either of you, did anything wrong,” Sam told them seriously. “And Dad wouldn’t either, I think. But they were Mexican nationals, and he might be assigned any kind of hearing or trial. Best they not find out, you see? All I need to tell them, I think, is I found a man, love him, and eloped. We can get a quickie marriage in Las Vegas, once the bruises fade, and Mom’ll be happy, and then maybe a big party, once I have the baby, so you can meet everyone.”

  
“Well, you’re the boss,” Morgan told her, admitting to himself that he was all at sea in this sort of thing. “Do you want to see if we can ease some of those muscles, now?”

  
“The Advil isn’t making a dent in the stiffness,” she confessed. “I don’t think Vicodin would help, at this point. What did you have in mind?”

  
“A very hot bath, and a massage,” he told her, and hesitated. “With both of us, I think. Will that be a problem, Sam? After last night, two naked men might be a little scary, even for you.”

  
“You two?” she said grinning. “You don’t belong to the same species, why would you two bother me? You have to understand, guys, I’m not your average shrinking violet type female. I have training in a lot of things that would make your hair stand on end. If you think those scum bothered me last night, you’d be right, but not the rape parts. It was the frustration part, not being able to do anything, prevent anything, that was the part that’ll haunt me, I think. Sex, with either of you, or both, rather appeals to me, so I doubt that’ll be a problem. For me, anyway.”

  
“You modern women,” said Morgan, shaking his head in wonder. “Is Brooke like you, Sam?”

  
“Well, sort of, why?” she asked, and drank off the third glass of water.

  
“She’ll likely think we did this to you,” he sighed, helping her to her feet, “and kill us.”

  
“Oh, no she won’t,” Sam assured them. “I won’t let her, don’t you worry. She’s had her share of problems with men, after all, so she’s a bit wary, but she’ll like you. I did tell her all about you, you know. Probably rather obsessively, actually.”

  
The huge, deep bath tub in the master bathroom was filled with steamy water, and three naked bodies slowly submerged into it. Hawk was, Sam noted, as beautifully sculpted as Morgan, and with less scarring. Hawk settled her gently in his lap, and began working on her neck muscles, while Morgan began on her feet. Sam relaxed with a sigh of delight. She was soon almost purring in contentment.

  
“It is a mystery to me, Senor, Senorita,” said Hawk after a few moments, feeling her neck muscles soften, and starting on her shoulders, “how any woman can be satisfied by a single man. A man, yes, he has one single focus in pleasure for his goal, but a woman has so many more. It almost seems that nature intended a woman to have two men to please her, not the other way around, as so many tribes and people do it.”

  
“How about that idea, Sam?” asked Morgan, who had had many detailed, even intimate discussions on the subject with the far more experienced Yaqui. “Did you ever have two men make love to you at once? Was it better?”

  
“Doll, I’m never going to know,” she sighed. “I’ve only had two other lovers, ever, and you, you’re my fiancé, aren’t you? Exclusive rights, see? But two men like you guys, it would be heaven, I’m sure.”

  
“She’s a little slow, Hawk,” chuckled Morgan, his hands now working on her thighs, her legs on either side of his waist. “Must be really relaxed.”

  
“You see, Senorita,” Hawk told her softly, holding her with one arm as he worked her back with his other hand. “A woman has places that give her delight that cannot all be reached, pleased, at one time, does she not? A lover cannot, no matter how flexible, touch her to her heights in all of them. Oh, a man may be pleased easily to his peak, and by his own efforts, too. A woman, though, how is she to be pleased by one man, even a skilled one? There are things, places, left untouched, I think.”

  
“It’s the bait,” Sam told them, feeling wonderful. “Nature made a woman to please easily, so she’d get pregnant. Intense pleasure now, agony nine months later. If it wasn’t a lot of fun, no one would ever get pregnant twice. The bait in the trap, see?”

  
“That’s how some men think of marriage,” chuckled Morgan, seeing her eyes close in almost sleep. “How do you feel now? Better?”

  
“No, I want to be trapped,” she told him softly, her thighs around his waist. “Show me what it’s like, having two men please me. Please? Will you?”

  
Morgan looked at Hawk, who nodded in agreement. The tall Yaqui thought she could be pleasured without injury to her. The same look told him it would be best not to stay in the cooling water. Morgan grinned, and leaned forward to kiss Sam’s swollen lip. It would be a challenge to avoid the bruises, he thought, but worth it. “Alright, Sam, we will.”

  
“Ah, I hope I can stay awake long enough to matter,” she said drowsily. “Everything feels so limp and relaxed, I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

  
“Oh, that won’t bother us,” Morgan told her, helping Hawk lift her from the marble basin. “Just stay relaxed, we’ll dry you off, take you to bed, make you happy.”

  
“More happy?” she murmured as they gently toweled her off, then rebandaged her wrists. “I don’t know how I could be more happy than I am now. I mean, you’re back, Hawk’s here, Brooke and me, we aren’t blown up, you don’t mind that I’m having your baby, you want to get married, we’re going to make love, and I don’t hurt anymore. Life is good, guys, life is good.”

  
“Would have been better, I think, if you weren’t hurt, raped, threatened in the first place,” Morgan told her, lifting her into his arms, and leading the way to her bed. “Easier to avoid the bruises that way.”

  
“Won’t hurt if you touch ‘em,” she said as they both lay beside her, Hawk on her right, Morgan on her left. “Dang, such nice bodies, and such lovely equipment. I feel all warm just looking at you two.”

  
“You relax, do nothing, Senorita,” Blue Hawk told her softly, caressing her belly gently. “We do everything. Now, first, the ears, yes?”

  
As one, the two men nuzzled her throat and then nibbled her ears, a hand coming up to cup a breast in gentle possession. Sam moaned as they tongued her ears, astonished at the visceral delight of that action. Her throat and shoulders were gently kissed as her breasts were kneaded gently, firmly, the nipples suckled as she groaned and held their heads to her in delighted need. They soon separated, however, and Hawk was pleasing her above the waist, and Morgan was eating her out with a desperate eagerness that spoke of his longing for her.

  
Needing to satisfy her lovers as much as they wanted to pleasure her, Sam begged them to come, to release their seed in her, on her. They refused, laughing, and her first orgasm shook her for several nirvanic minutes. They changed places as she sobbed and shuddered, and they soon had her screaming softly in ecstasy, thrashing and twitching. The electric shocks of her fourth orgasm cleared just as she was settled onto the stiff, hot tool that jutted from Morgan’s loins.

  
“Oh, gods, yes,” she hissed as he lowered her onto his shaft, her back to him, Hawk helping her legs to fold properly. Then, with Morgan holding her breasts from behind, Hawk lay between their legs and began to tongue them both. “Oh, yes, this is heaven, oh, ah, now, please, now!”

  
Obediently, with a groan of his own, Morgan spent his seed, held for almost an hour, in his fiancé. She was almost past noticing his pleasures, as Hawk had not stopped his skillful mouth. She noticed when he lifted her from him, though, and was cleaned and petted by them both, Hawk still hard and firm. She tugged him to her and offered her body to him wordlessly. The eyes of the two men met above her and she was gently turned so that she was on all fours, doggy style. Hawk entered her from behind, then pulled her up and back so that she rode him as Morgan had. The white man made a good job of pleasing her the same way Hawk had, and his explosion into her was quick and delicious, though Sam was not conscious for the very end of it, fainting away in ecstasy a moment before.

  
“Well, that was certainly educational,” said Morgan, as they rinsed her body off in the hot shower, holding her carefully between them. “Not exactly what I would have thought a woman raped the night before would want, but she certainly enjoyed it.”

  
“She spoke the truth, Senor,” the Yaqui told his companion as they dried her carefully, heedless of their own wet bodies. “She is not reacting as other women would to being raped. Any normal woman would have had hysterics, vapors, fought us, no matter how much she trusted you, loved you. Many Indian women have suffered such abuses, and they would have been terrified of what we just did. That is very interesting. Are all modern women like that, do you think?”

  
“I don’t know, but I’m worried how this’ll look to Brooke, and what she might do, if Sam can’t intercede for us,” Morgan chuckled. “I don’t doubt she’s armed, what with a bunch like that after her, and how’ll she know we aren’t with them? Easy with the wrist, there.”

  
“We must trust that the Senorita can vouch for us,” shrugged Hawk, helping his friend slide Sam into bed, and cover her gently. “And that her friend has better sense than to shoot her new ranch hands. Will you cook, Senor, or feed?”

  
“I’ll feed, you cook, Hawk,” chuckled the outlaw, feeling very much that life was, indeed, good. “You just want to explore the kitchen, if I know you. Gonna try something more ambitious than sandwiches?”

  
“Perhaps, Senor, perhaps,” chuckled the normally very serious Yaqui. He, too, felt very satisfied indeed with their new world, so alien, yet so familiar. And how novel to have a whole, gadget-filled kitchen to work with, rather than an open fire or an iron stove. “I must make sure not to burn down the house, however.”


	10. Chapter 10

Morgan was just finishing the evening feeding, a routine he remembered from his first visit, and was wondering if he ought to put the board and electric saw somewhere, when a low noise announced an approaching vehicle of some size. A large truck, much bigger than the one Sam had taken him to San Diego in, rumbled into the barn area, a long white trailer behind it. A neigh signaled occupants, the trailer also bigger than the one Sam had put Midnight in. Driving it with casual skill, was a tall, slender woman, her hair a very dark red, like mahogany. She parked the rig easily and got out, having to step down quite a way. In her hand was one of the deadly guns Sam had shown him before. He raised his hands amiably.

  
“Evening, ma’am,” he said politely, regardless of the cold, dark eyes, the steady aim. “Can I help you unload your horses?”

  
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice low and pleasant, though unfriendly. “What are you doing here?”

  
“Name’s Morgan, Miss Brooke,” he said truthfully. “Just got done feeding the stock, left flakes in your stalls, them that were empty, leastwise. Checked the water, was just wonderin’ what all should be done with Sam’s project here. Not sure where the pieces ought to go.”

  
“You’re Morgan?” said Brooke, her elegant eyebrow rising, the left one. “Sam’s friend? Where is she, then?”

  
“Well, that’s kind of a long story,” the outlaw admitted. “She’s in the house, probably asleep. She had a mighty tough day yesterday, and still looks kinda bad. Not that she’s not in much better shape than the others, mind, them being’ dead.”

  
“What?” demanded Brooke, her gun never wavering from Morgan’s torso, he noted. “Who’s dead? Sam killed some more trespassers?”

  
“No, she didn’t, which is how she got hurt,” the outlaw said, still unhappy about that. “Seems some fellers was settin’ a trap for you, run across her, and used her for bait. Me an’ Hawk showed up last night and kinda dealt ourselves in. Hawk killed ‘em, all six.”

  
“How badly hurt?” growled Brooke, her eyes stormy in the evening light. “Had to be Carlos’ idea, no one else wants me dead.”

  
“Oh, she’s bruised up some,” Morgan said, lowering his hands, but keeping them well away from his own guns. He had taken no chances, and was wearing both weapons. “Said they raped her, beat her, left her hanging by her wrists in the shed, there. That’s the worst, I’d think, the wrists, but we been keepin’ ‘em clean, bandaged, and they seem better.”

  
“And she’s up there alone?” said Brooke, gesturing with her gun at the house, then tucking it into a shoulder holster. A jacket of purple covered the rig, he noted. Evidently Brooke had decided he was not an immediate threat, and was now going to the back of the big trailer, moving with the horses still in it. “I’ll put up the horses, you go back up and stay with her.”

  
“No, Hawk’s with her,” Morgan corrected, as the door swung open to reveal gleaming horseflesh and curious looks. “Messing up the kitchen, probably, but in the house. And which stall does this one go in?”

  
Shortly, the horses unloaded and stabled, the tack stowed neatly, and the trailer and truck parked, Brooke and Morgan walked up to the house, going in the kitchen door. There, to Morgan’s surprise and pleasure, sat Sam, thickly wrapped in a robe of royal blue, with a glass of soda in her hand. Hawk was by the stove, and there were delicious scents in the air.

  
“Sam, are you alright?” asked Brooke of her friend, ignoring the men. “You look terrible.”

  
“Oh, I feel better than I look,” grinned Sam, her facial swelling down to a few lumps. “But I’m not in the best shape, no. Could have been dead, if Morgan and Hawk hadn’t shown up, both of us.”

  
“This is the guy that knocked you up, then disappeared?” asked Brooke, still cool in her tone. “Unusual that he came back.”

  
“Well, I didn’t tell you the whole story,” admitted Sam. “And Brooke, this is Blue Hawk, Morgan’s pal. He’s doing dinner, I guess. He’s a full-blood Yaqui Indian, and did the twenty questions thing with one of the guys your ex sent. Cheap bastard figures you cost too much.”

  
“Oh?” said Brooke, focusing on the Yaqui for the first time. A moment of speculative examination later Brooke added, “Mee-yow!”

  
“You didn’t tell me your friend was bringing a hunk home with him,” Brooke said, eyes devouring Hawk with great pleasure. “Is he married? Gay? Seeing anyone?”

  
“Ask him yourself, he speaks at least six languages,” grinned Sam, as Morgan washed his hands in the sink briefly, then went to sit by Sam, and take her hand. Gently, he examined the bandaged wrists, kissed the palm of her right hand and placed a tiny wooden box on it. Sam looked surprised, and he took her other hand and put it on top of the box.

  
“Open it,” he suggested softly, hoping that this hesitation didn’t mean that her hands had suffered damage from her ordeal. “It’s for you.”

  
“Oh,” she said and felt stupid. Her fingers had quickly opened the box to find a dazzling ring inside. It was delicate gold inset with, not diamonds, but emeralds. It resembled a ring of green held by the gold, there were so many stones. Sam was surprised at how well it fit when she slid it on, finding tears in her eyes as she hugged her beloved fiance. “Darling, it’s beautiful, thank you. Where did you get it?”

  
“Tiffany’s, of course,” Morgan told her, relieved that she liked it. It had been the least delicate-looking ring they had had, and he rather thought it would hold up better than a standard type to Sam’s life. “No one else would have had anything good enough.”

  
“Darling, you went to New York for me?” she said, touched deeply at the risk he had taken. “You shouldn’t have done that. What if someone had seen you, recognized you?”

  
“No one did,” he assured her, wondering how his other reasons for going to that bustling city of 1873 had progressed. “My own mother wouldn’t have known either of us. Now, do you like the emeralds, or should we get diamonds instead?”

  
“Let me see,” requested Brooke, and Sam put her hand out where the older woman could get a good look at the ring. “Very nice, good stones, a bit old fashioned, but retro is in. Must have set you back four thou, about. You proposed?”

  
“She accepted,” Morgan corrected, pleased. He had paid four hundred dollars for the ring, but that had been over a hundred years ago. “Are you a jeweler, ma’am?”

  
“No, but I know a lot about the business,” Brooke told him. “And I like jewelry. Congratulations, then, both of you. Are you staying this time?”

  
“Don’t mean to ever leave Sam again,” said Morgan, reclaiming Sam’s hand from Brooke. “Might have to do something about your ex, though, Miss Brooke. Tryin’ to blow the two of you up, well, that calls for a little lesson in manners, at least.”

  
“Okay, let me get cleaned up and you can tell me the full story,” Brooke said, holding up a hand. “Be right back.”

  
“She must like you,” Sam said to Morgan with a grin. “She didn’t shoot you! And Hawk, mmm, I’ll probably never see him in my bed again. That was the sound of the lioness seeing fresh meat! Hope you don’t mind being pursued, Hawk, she likes the way you look.”

  
“She is a handsome woman, Senorita,” shrugged Hawk, having finished what he was doing, a simple soup, some bread and coffee for the first try in a modern kitchen. There would be time, perhaps, to try something more elaborate tomorrow. And, he had noted, there were cook books on a shelf by the windows. “I think I will not run too hard.”

  
“Do you mind, guys, if I tell Brooke all about you?” Sam asked, still not certain how much to conceal of Morgan’s past. “She’s good for it, but I don’t want to compromise you, even now.”

  
“You tell her everything, Sam,” Morgan agreed with a nod. “She’s living in the same house, she won’t need to be kept in the dark. It seems you didn’t tell her much last time, either.”

  
“Yeah, she thought I was an idiot to let some guy knock me up, then take off,” laughed Sam. “How could she know what a guy you were? I knew you’d come back if you could, but if you didn’t, where was I gonna find a better father? Can’t shake guys like you out of every tree, after all. Good bones, good teeth, good reflexes, great mind, sweet temper, strong and brave and gorgeous. Which, come to think of it, describes Hawk, too. And don’t think Brooke missed that, heh.”

  
“What does ‘gay’ mean?” asked Hawk, as he filled bowls with soup while waiting for Brooke to reappear. He was, as always, spotless, in spite of his time in the kitchen.

  
“In men, it means men who love other men,” Sam told him. “In women, just women. An awful lot of the men who look as good as you two are gay, seems like, and Brooke didn’t want to insult you, if you were, by throwing herself at you. Some people aren’t so narrow in their choices, and we call those bi-sexual, or bi, because they’ll go both ways. It’s not common, you understand, but it’s alright by me, as long as no one’s forced, no one’s hurt.”

  
“No, I am not gay,” said Hawk, calmly, as Brooke entered, now wearing silky lounging stuff, having taken a quick shower. And, Sam noticed, redone her hair. And added a necklace, Navajo.

  
“An odd thing to call it, when it means something completely different where we’re from,” agreed Morgan, again impressed with the flexibility of the language.

  
“And where would that be?” asked Brooke, as both men stood waiting for her to be seated. She was pleased at their courtesy, Sam could tell. “Or are you those ultra secret types Sam sometimes has over?”

  
“Twice,” Sam protested, as they all sat down, “only twice. Now, you guys want to tell the story, or should I?”

  
“Oh, I’ll tell it, Sam,” said Morgan hastily, wanting Sam to eat and recover her strength. The most unsettling thing about their afternoon activities had been Sam’s weakness, and the outlaw wanted to do what he could to cure that. “To start with, Miss Brooke, Sam tells me you read a book called “Robinhood of the Old West?”


	11. Chapter 11

Two hours later, over coffee in the living room, Sam held in Morgan’s arms on the couch, he finished the tale. Brooke was spellbound, incredulous, at first, but soon drawn into the story, on occasion affirmed by either Sam or Hawk. “So we got a few things settled and rode west. Country’s settling down, or was, some, fairly quiet trip. Have to admit I kinda pushed the pace, wanting to know if the rift still worked. Wasn’t sure, either, until that radio picked up a different signal. This country doesn’t change much, so we rode here, arriving after dark. Found Sam hanging up like bear bait. Didn’t like that at all.”

  
“Dang,” said Brooke at last, convinced. “Two real, live Wild West cowboy heroes right in front of me, and handsome as hell, to boot. Antonio Banderas and Billy Zane did not do you two justice in the movie, I gotta tell ya. Shoulda been Viggo Mortensen, at least, to get half that sex appeal on the screen.”

  
“Stop drooling, Brooke,” said Sam sleepily. “You see that we gotta keep this quiet, don’t you?”

  
“Hell, yes,” agreed Brooke, thinking about it. “We’d have the press, the paparazzi, every kook with an endorsement deal, down on us like vultures. And the garden variety nut jobs, the public and the government, too. A working, reliable time rift? Time travelers? Not to mention the metas and the super-kooks. Yeah, not a word, believe me.”

  
“Still, we have to have something to tell my parents, at least,” added Sam thoughtfully. “Can’t tell them, see, my mom’ll have announcements made, a lot of talk, web sites, even, especially once she finds out about a potential grandchild. It’s not that they’re gonna be unhappy, see, just the opposite.”

  
“Oh, me and Hawk are pretty good at coming up with believable backgrounds where there aren’t any,” Morgan assured his fiancé, holding her limp body against his left side and shoulder. “Using my real name ought to be safe enough now, and if I did my homework right, there ought to be some supporting evidence, and means to keep up the pair of us. Might take a few days, getting the right people, though.”

  
“What did you do?” asked Sam, curiously, her body asleep, but her mind still alert. She knew he was too smart not to have taken full advantage of the three books he had taken back with him to his original time.

  
“Oh, just what you suggested, darling,” he told her, and shook his head at her state. “I think you need to go to bed, Sam, you’re mostly asleep now. Excuse us, please, Miss Brooke, we’ll see you in the morning.”

  
“Senor,” said the Yaqui, his voice low enough for the lounging Brooke not to hear, “we stand guard tonight?”

  
“Wake me halfway through, Hawk,” agreed Morgan, Sam held in his strong arms like a baby. “Don’t trust them bushwhackers not to try again.”

  
“Si, Senor,” agreed Hawk, as the two vanished into Sam’s bedroom. Brooke liked this arrangement very well, and took her opportunity to get to know Hawk better. After all, he hadn’t published his biography, however second hand, as Morgan had. Brooke found him delightfully mysterious, dangerous and very, very tempting. However, she could not, it seemed, tempt him the first night, going to bed alone, and dreaming very sweet dreams. At about two in the morning, though, those dreams turned into sweeter reality, when Hawk changed duties with his old friend.

  
Brooke awoke to soft kisses and a sweetly warm body next to her own, and matters progressed quite agreeably from there until both fell asleep. Morgan smiled and kept a slow walk around the area, his senses open to sounds and signs that might be more killers sent to disrupt his new family. And it was a family, he reflected, as Midnight whuffled in his hand, relaxed and happy after his month of hard riding. Hawk was as near a brother as a man could get, and Sam’s friend Brooke was closer in her confidence than his fiancés mother. And in-laws, he’d have in-laws again, he thought, amazed. This time, he suspected, his hostages to fortune were going to prove far more difficult to kill.

  
Sam woke up alone, a little later than usual, but feeling much better, though still spectacularly bruised. Well, with two wonderful men doing their best to help her regain her flexibility, and test her sexual recovery, she should feel good, she told herself, purring at the mere memory. It was nice she was over the morning heaves, too, and hoped Morgan would soon settle down to staying in bed with her all night. She was absolutely certain where Hawk would be sleeping, she thought smugly.

  
She got up and began making a real breakfast, something she and Brooke seldom bothered with, and began a list for shopping, headed by milk, eggs and bacon, which she was using freely. With four people now, it would be best to buy more, rather than less. The smell of pancakes, unburned, bacon, coffee and eggs did the trick, drawing the others to the kitchen by their noses, and Hawk, in particular, watched closely. In moments, it seemed, the meal was inhaled, praised by all, who had worked up large appetites, somehow. Morgan had fed the horses, Sam knew, and Brooke looked both disheveled and smug. Hawk looked neat, tidy and relaxed, if a bit tired. Sam concluded her further experience with two men was likely canceled. Good for Brooke, she told herself with a grin, she’d needed a new guy for some time.

  
“I’m going to have to go to the store, guys,” she told them, looking into cupboards and the freezer, then the refrigerator. “Four people, very active people, eat a lot. And eventually, the two of you are going to need something else to wear, too. Brooke, you want to make the supply run, or shall I? Price Club, I think, this time.”

  
“Better be you, Sam,” Brooke told her friend, nodding at the livid bruises on Sam’s face and arms. “You shouldn’t ride yet, with those wrists. Exercising anyone with that is gonna be painful. I’ll exercise everyone, do the meds, you take the boys shopping and have fun.”

  
“No, ma’am,” refused Morgan, not liking that plan at all. “One of us stays with one of you at all times, ‘specially off the property. Don’t want anyone thinkin’ that you look like easy targets, or worse, havin’ yuh _be_ easy targets. I know someone wants Miss Brooke, here, dead, and Sam ain’t gonna be used to get her a second time, if I can help it. If Sam goes fer victuals, I’ll go with her, Hawk’ll stay here with Miss Brooke. Them sidewinders ain’t gonna sneak up on this ranch twice, not now that we’re here.”

  
“Oh, and you think that arrangement is going to get any work done?” teased Sam, flattered at his concern, but wondering if he understood just how deadly she actually was. “No, doll, you stay here with Brooke, out of my temptations reach, and Hawk can come with me to the store, if you insist. Can’t wear your guns in public, either, not these days. A knife like Hawk’s is illegal, too, but easier to conceal.”

  
“Si, Senor,” agreed the Yaqui, eager to see more of this future, though guarding Brooke would undoubtedly have its pleasures. “I will not let anything happen to the Senorita. But we could all go, if you think it is safer.”

  
“No, I like Sam’s idea, Hawk,” agreed Morgan, reluctant though he was to be parted from the woman who held his heart so tightly. “And if you’re with her, no one will be able to hurt either of you, I’m pretty sure. Still, we gotta do something about your ex, Miss Brooke. Shouldn’t have to keep guardin’ you both like that, lookin’ over yore shoulders. We might just have to go have a little talk with him.”

  
“I have some ideas about that,” said Sam, working on her list while Brooke washed up. “Might give a friend of mine a call, see what he has to say about it. After all, no more alimony, if Carlos dies, right?”

  
“I’m not so sure that matters anymore, if he’s going to try to get rid of me, and hurt you in the process,” Brooke said, letting the water out of the sink and rinsing out the suds. “I can go back to work at the Comm Center, if I have to. Ugh.”

  
“Maybe I can convince Bruce Wayne I need a couple of assistants,” shrugged Sam, then raised an eyebrow at the outlaw. “Come to that, maybe he can give me a hand with your background, Morgan. You are family, in a distant cousin kind of way. Couldn’t hurt to ask his advice about the prowler problem, either. Tonight maybe, after the road trip.”

  
“Better get moving, then,” Brooke told her friend. “Don’t you let Hawk get lost or anything, okay? I like him.”

  
Sam and Hawk, who had been somewhat prepared by Morgan’s tales of riding in trucks, left in the big blue truck that was Sam’s. Morgan kept watch as Brooke turned out and rode various horses according to a schedule posted in the tack room. Brooke had a still, elegant seat on a horse, very regal and calm, to Morgan’s eye. Not one of the animals Brooke rode offered to buck, although they seemed to have plenty of spirit, even those with obvious injuries or age. The majority of the stabled horses had been exercised when Brooke called a halt for lunch, and led Morgan back to the house. She made a large pile of sandwiches, a pitcher of iced tea, and settled with them and Morgan on the porch.

  
“So, anything I should do with your horses?” asked Brooke, having been pleased at Morgan’s lack of comment on her riding. Most men seemed to think a woman’s skill on a horse needed either compliment or criticism, and he’d said nothing. “Have a sandwich, please. I didn’t make all this for me.”

  
“No, they can rest a little more,” he said, considering. “Or go in one of the pastures, if there’s room. Don’t use horses for getting’ places, nowadays, I guess. Are your horses polo horses, too? The ones came in with you last night?”

  
“No, my three are show horses,” Brook told him, taking a sandwich herself. “Jumpers, hunters, a little dressage now and then, since both the horses and I are getting too old for eventing, mostly. Trooper still sulks sometimes about that, but behaves well in the ring. I never played polo, just did the military, trail riding, a little distance stuff. The horses are Trooper, Felix and Diva, all thoroughbreds I retrained from the racetrack. Of course, Sam has a few of those, too.”

  
“Tell me about Sam,” requested Morgan, his eyes never long off the open areas around them, the road into the ranch. “How did you meet? She told me she’d had two previous lovers, do you know anything about them? Does it usually take this long to get to a store and back?”

  
“I’ll tell you about Sam,” laughed Brooke, “if you’ll tell me about Blue Hawk. How old is he, where’d he go to school, was he ever married, how did you two meet, what languages does he speak?”

  
“Hawk speaks English, Spanish, Nahuatl, Yaqui, French and Latin,” Morgan said, amused at her eagerness. “And I think maybe Comanche and Navajo and Apache. Maybe more, some of the languages are very similar, from tribe to tribe.”

  
“He must be just as brilliant as he is cute,” sighed Brooke, contentedly. “I love smart men. They just aren’t usually young and cute. How’d you two get together? That wasn’t in your book.”

  
“Ah, to make a long story short,” said Morgan modestly, “I came across him, badly wounded, after he’d finished killing some _Comancheros_ who had killed his wife and children. I made certain he’d be alright, took care of him, then went after the rest of the gang. Hawk trailed me, still hurt pretty bad, and found me, close to dead. He kept me alive, and the two of us have been together since. He’s a dead shot with a rifle, a good cook, and a very kind person. I don’t know how old he is, but he was schooled by Catholic missionaries in Mexico, taught by Jesuits, I think, Often he comes up with a biblical or classical reference that completely destroys his image of savage native. As a man, I’ve never had a more trustworthy, loyal, dependable, thinking friend. I don’t know what drove you and this Carlos jasper apart, but if Hawk and you get together, he won’t let you go, not if he loves you, no matter what he has to do.”

  
“Oh, Carlos had other women,” Brooke said, remembering the pain, the betrayal, the shock. “Lots of other women, and went from small time crime to major importer, to support them. The abuse started, I left, the divorce was nasty and unpleasant. I think he’s probably using drugs, now, if he wasn’t then, and I was just too young and naive to see it. I’ve been careful not to get involved since. But, oh, my, Hawk is just so wonderful, so handsome and kind. I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t want to, really. And he’s so gentle, Carlos was never gentle, not even at first.”

  
“More I hear ‘bout this Carlos feller, the less I like him,” growled Morgan, his dark blue eyes flashing dangerously. “You won’t do a lot better than Hawk, Ma’am, no matter how long you look. It’d be right nice to have the two of you paired up, too, seein’ as how you an’ Sam’re so close. But I have to ask, how’s the two of us living here, eating your food, costing you money, gonna work? I know Sam said she writes, gets paid, but I’m not quite sure me an’ Hawk got present day skills, if you see what I mean.”

  
“Sam and I will think of something, if it means keeping the two of you here, don’t worry,” Brooke assured him. “She mentioned Bruce Wayne, so that might be a good bet. He’s a kind of distant nephew, wouldn’t you say? Maybe he can see his way clear to paying for a couple of ranch hands. Don’t know if we want to tell some billionaire business tycoon he’s related to the real Masked Rider, I don’t know as Wayne’s got the discretion to handle that kind of secret. He seems to be a bit of a flake, from the stuff you read in the papers, so I don’t think we want to tell him about the time thing, for sure.”

  
Morgan concluded that Sam had said nothing to Brooke about Bruce Wayne’s other identity, either, and was impressed with her discretion once more. He suspected that Sam would indeed tell Wayne everything, though not in Brooke’s presence. The identity of the Batman was a deadly secret, he recalled, and far more current than his own double life. Still, he had an idea that he wouldn’t be too much of a financial burden, once he got a chance to contact certain banks.


	12. Chapter 12

Brooke was working her own horses when Sam and Hawk returned, the truck bed loaded with interesting things. Brooke put up her horse and helped put things away. Hawk, though not usually talkative, looked very pleased about his adventure, and had apparently been suitably impressed by their trip. It had, however, been the store he was impressed with, Morgan found.

  
“Piles of goods, higher than five men, Senor,” he told Morgan, “of everything! Foods, clothes, books, devices, medicines, plants, wines, things I will not know, ever, all the names for! And the building itself! Huge, big enough to cover this entire ranch, truly, barn, house and pastures, it was. The Senorita, she knew what was where, or I would be there still, staring at things that move inside boxes, tasting things, wondering what things are, what they do. It was very exciting, Senor.”

  
“Yeah, least she didn’t try to scare you with her driving,” chuckled Morgan, as the two men watched Sam consult with Brooke over a horse’s bandaged leg. “One of them trucks goes as fast as a train, and somehow people control ‘em at that speed. I guess we’ll hafta learn that, too.”

  
“Si, Senor,” agreed the Yaqui, still pleased at the sheer possibilities of this new world. “And here we are, with good women, good food and horses, and an enemy to keep life interesting. It is wonderful, is it not?”

  
“Yeah, Hawk, it is,” chuckled the Masked Rider, feeling a great warmth in his heart, a warmth centered on Sam. She had replaced the bitterness that had so often poisoned his soul in the past. She had made him feel that a happy future was possible for him, not just for others. A magical person, he thought, watching her, and she never seemed to know it. Horses knew, he could tell, always coming to her, submitting to her, even in pain, calming at her words. Not even Brooke had such a place in their equine hearts, he could see. When Sam spoke, every equine ear in range pointed toward her, often accompanied by nickers, nods, pleas for attention.

  
“Okay, who cooks tonight?” asked Sam, as they fed the horses for the evening. “I did breakfast, who did lunch? Brooke? Hawk did dinner last night, that leaves you, hon. Think you can do dinner?”

  
“No, please, I wish to try something,” Hawk said, eager to test more of the mysteries of the kitchen, now augmented by fresh supplies. “If Brooke will provide technical advice?”

  
“Alright,” agreed Sam, willing to have someone else cook. “I’ll just see what I can do about getting Mr. Wayne on the phone. Hafta find the number, first.”

  
“Is there a way to telephone a bank?” asked Morgan, as Sam found a number and stuck it on her phone for the next morning. “A specific bank, in New York City.”

  
“Sure, which one?” asked Sam, wondering what bank would have survived over a hundred years. “Let me just get the phone screen up on the computer.”

  
“First National Bank of New York,” Morgan told her, his eyes watching her actions carefully. “That’s what it was in my day, anyway.”

  
“Hmm, bought by City Bank in the sixties,” said Sam, after a short search in the cyberspace net. “City Bank is huge, got branches everywhere. You had an account with them?”

  
“Sure did,” agreed Morgan, wondering how that had done, if they had followed instructions. Would they accept him without documentation, he wondered, or over the phone?

  
“Should be pretty hefty by now, with compound interest,” commented Sam, finding a number and writing it down for him. “We’ll call in the morning, when we’ve fed, I think. Can’t expect Bruce Wayne to be awake or at work before noon, though. Even if he is in town, or in the country, even. What kind of account did you set up? Savings?”

  
“No, I made some arrangements,” he told her, fascinated by the way she could find information with the device. “Much like the ones you once suggested, actually. Two different types, in the end, one for stocks, one for real estate. For instance, can you find out who owns the land next door? It should be the Horseman’s Land Trust, if things worked out well.”

  
“Let me search the name,” said Sam, intrigued. A few moments later she looked up from a long list. “A corporation by that name owns a lot of stuff, it seems. A huge chunk of land up here, a good sized piece of coastal property up north, a good bit of Napa Valley, the major part of a county in Idaho, another in Colorado, and a part of Los Angeles. You own that?”

  
“Well, maybe,” Morgan conceded, scanning the list and seeing most of the instructions had been followed. “I can’t really go into the nearest branch and tell them I’m the one who set up the accounts. And I have no papers proving who I am. However, if they followed my instructions, that won’t matter.”

  
“No modern banking institution turns over anything but safe deposit boxes without identification,” agreed Sam. “And they’re making money on these properties, so they’ll be reluctant to let go, probably. That would be where Mr. Bruce Wayne, and his other life, come in. Ah, Brooke doesn’t know about that, okay?”

  
“I figured,” nodded Morgan, for that was a secret too dangerous to spread around, and Brooke already had some enemies. “Now, what can this thing tell you about driving vehicles? I’m thinkin’ that Hawk and me’ll need to learn to do that, eventually.”


	13. Chapter 13

Dinner was quite good, a kind of casserole, mostly from a box, but with certain elements added in for flavor. The salad was Brooke’s contribution, and the pie after, peach, was completely Hawk’s and delicious. The ice cream was only a flourish, Sam told him, having put a scoop on each warm slice. The dishes went quickly, Sam’s turn, with help from Morgan, and then they spent an hour watching the television, fascinated by the crime show CSI, though not for the usual reasons.

  
Sam, by that time almost asleep, was taken off to bed by Morgan, after a quick consultation with Hawk. They had opted for sleeping with their potential targets, rather than a patrol, and from the sounds, Morgan knew Brooke would appreciate that plan. He was tucking Sam into bed, meaning to take a shower before joining her, when she suddenly almost leapt into his arms, completely naked, shaking in what appeared to be terror. He held her close and stroked her hair until she calmed a little, but her nerves were tight as fence wires. A hot bath it was, he decided, realizing that it was probably a delayed reaction to her rape.

  
Not really very conscious, Sam seemed to relax in the warm water, held in his arms. He murmured soft words to her, she never spoke, didn’t even whimper as he held her, stroked her, kissed her. She seemed to awaken, after a little while, and realize what had happened, a little embarrassed to find out what she’d done.

  
“Sam, if your only reaction to something like that is to throw yourself at me, why is that bad?” he soothed. “I like it, after all, when you do that. I’m sure you won’t do it with just anyone, just someone you trust. I don’t know how Brooke’ll take it if you do it to Hawk, mind.”

  
“Ah, Morgan, darling,” she whispered, held in his arms, in the warm water. “Would you make love to me, please? Or can I make love to you? I think I need to be touching someone, someone safe, for a while.”

  
“I don’t know if I’d consider me to be ‘safe’,” he chuckled, lifting her into his arms and getting out of the tub. He tried to put her down, but she clung to him tightly, though not as tense or mindless as before. Her bruises were yellow and purple and obvious, though fading on her body faster than her face. The swelling was gone, however, and her wrists were scabbing, even if a light bandage was still needed for the night. “Now, let’s go see who wins that contest, Sam, though I can’t imagine how I’d lose.”

  
The two of them made love tenderly, and very pleasantly for an hour, and then slept very deeply, Sam held in Morgan’s arms, she holding him. By dawn, she had loosened her hold somewhat, and he rose and dressed and met Hawk to feed horses. That morning he decided to renew his acquaintance with the Gator, and the two of them had quite the adventure as he relearned the tricks of motorized creatures. Hawk was not certain that riding a vehicle with Morgan at the wheel was safe, but it was exciting. Eventually the horses were fed, though the hay in the hay barn was dwindling, they noticed.

  
Sam was up when they came in, eating a bowl of cold cereal, and they joined her, though the idea was odd to them. Eggs, bacon, hot cakes, sausages, even steak, seemed more reasonable to them, though the meal Sam had chosen had the advantages of speed, quiet and easy clean up. Brooke was still asleep, and Sam figured they must have had a lot of fun the night before, though Hawk looked quite rested. Sam, dressed in her usual work clothes, was soon ready to run up her phone bill a little, and took Morgan into the living room, where the computer was.

  
“Let me call the Wayne offices and leave a message first,” said Sam. “I’ll have to have a reason for the secretary, but I don’t want to set off any alarms in his head, that could be dangerous. Then we can get to trying to find your account manager.”

  
“Hello, this is Sam Grey,” she said a moment later into the phone, Morgan watching with interest. “I take care of Mr. Wayne’s retired polo ponies and I’m afraid I need to speak to him about one of them. Well, there may be vet bills, very large vet bills. No, not Skipper, Parrot. No, not right now, but sometime tonight would do nicely. Yes, four hours. Yes, that’s the number. Thank you very much, Carol. Good-bye.”

  
“Alright, your turn, Morgan,” Sam told him. “Now, listen for a dial tone, that hum, then push the buttons in the correct order, and it should get you someone after a few rings.”

  
“Hello,” he said in response to the woman’s voice on the other end of the line. “My name is Morgan Wayne, and I’m trying to find the manager of the Horseman’s Land Trust.”

  
“Ah, Mr. James Stockton,” said the girl, a calm, professional voice. “Just a moment while I connect you.”

  
“This is James Stockton,” said a man, moments later, almost seeming surprised. “Is this Mr. Morgan Wayne?”

  
“Yes, that’s my name,” the outlaw said, still feeling a little odd at using the name openly after so many years. “I’m calling about several accounts my great grandfather left me title to in his will. Can you tell me if they’re worth anything?”

  
“Ah, you also refer to the stock portfolio investment arrangement,” said the banker, and Morgan heard a keyboard, like Sam’s. “Yes, quite a lot, really. Oh, not much, if you were a major country, but quite enough to buy a smaller country, if you wished. A shrewd man, your great grandfather, and quite likely psychic. Very wealthy he’s made you, if you can fill the requirements to claim the accounts. He ordered a building project begun this year in California, but nothing else is in a current state of flux.”

  
“Do you have an estimate of the stock portfolio?” asked Morgan, pleased at how this was going. “In general, not exact figures.”

  
“About two billion dollars, sir,” said Stockton, having run that figure immediately. “The land figure is more difficult, as prices fluctuate, but probably in the three billion range. Will you be coming in to claim the accounts? We would be happy to keep administering them for you, if you prefer to simply set up a cash account to live on, perhaps.”

  
“I’m sure I don’t have the expertise to do that kind of job, Mr. Stockton,” Morgan told him honestly, a little shocked. “And yes, some kind of cash line would be what I need, not the actual proceeds from a sell out.”

  
“Very well, let me give you my personal line,” the man told him, and Morgan scribbled down the numbers on a note pad Sam kept on her desk. “And please call me on arrival in New York, I’ll send a car for you. And perhaps you could satisfy some curiosity about your great grandfather. Office legend he is, even now.”

  
“I could only repeat family stories, as I never knew him,” lied Morgan easily. “But he did have an odd life, I’m told.”

  
“And am I engaged to a guy who’s solvent?” asked Sam, having followed only Morgan’s half of the conversation. Morgan set the phone back on it’s base, and looked at her, his eyes sparkling with humor, the result of a plan gone well.

  
“I’m not sure, since a steak here costs twenty dollars,” he teased. “But the banker says about five billion dollars. Think we can live on that, the four of us, uh, five?”

  
“Billion?” repeated Sam, eyes wide. “What did you do, start out with a mint?”

  
“No, I started out with stocks,” he told her, pleased at her reactions. At that rate, they could hire reliable men to be guards, and he and Hawk could go reason with Carlos. “The profits went into real estate. San Francisco after the earthquake, Napa Valley during Prohibition, Los Angeles before the turn of the century, this area almost first thing. Is there a building going up near here?”

  
“Yeah, nice, solid-looking place over on the land grant property, about half a mile from here. Is that yours, too?”

  
“No, it’s ours, eventually,” Morgan told her firmly. “If I hadn’t made it back to now, the instructions were to find you and it would all be yours on your birthday. One way or another, I try to take care of the people I love.”

  
“Oh, you take care of me, alright,” Sam said with a purr. “Mmm, yes, and I expect you to keep right on doing that, at least until we can’t get around my belly. Now, let’s go get some horses out and Brooke can get up on her own. I think she’s not used to being kept up late.”

  
At noon, with Brooke finally up, having made sandwiches for all, the phone rang and Sam went in to answer it. It was Bruce Wayne, who had apparently gone into the office rather early, for him.

  
“Ah, Mr. Wayne,” said Sam, the image of this man falling from the night sky flashing into her mind. “Actually no, there’s not problem with your horses. But it’s not something I can just tell anyone, you see. I’ve come across one of your relatives, a long-lost relative, I should add. Ah, had a biography published a year or so ago, posthumously, everyone assumed, and the recent movie? Yes, and the resemblance is very distinct. Not something I want to discuss on an open line, you see. If you wouldn’t mind coming out to discuss it? I know you’re very busy, but it seems important. Oh, and someone tried to kill me and Brooke the other night, so, um, precautions might be advisable.”

  
“He’s coming tomorrow,” she told her friends on the porch. “He can probably help you get papers, documentation, even some kind of background, if he wants to, both of you. And if you end up being really rich, you need something like that so the tax people won’t make life miserable. Oh, we could probably think of something, you spent your life in the Argentine pampas, the family lived in Belize, were African land owners, but the Waynes have always had money, that’ll make it seem more normal, especially if we can make the two of you distant cousins or something.”

  
“Bruce Wayne’s coming tomorrow?” repeated Brooke, aghast. “House cleaning now! Hawk, come help me, Sam, clean up the tack room, make sure the horses are turned out. That guy notices everything!”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Wayne shows up

“He does notice everything,” agreed Sam, as they turned out four horses in the arena, and Morgan saddled Midnight. Sam whistled and shortly Kumara was nuzzling her human affectionately. The mare seemed to be careful of her human, Morgan noticed, and was gentler than he’d first seen her. “A family trait, I think. Where are you going?”

  
“We’re going over to see how the new place is coming along, Sam,” he told her. “I’ll saddle her for you while you take care of these fellows. I know all your things are labeled with the horse’s names, so I’ll get it right.”

  
And by the time she had finished, he had Kumara dressed in her gear, boots and all, and had even brought her helmet. Sam and Morgan mounted their eager horses and headed off to the southwest, along the forest edge. Kumara trotted along smoothly, as if trying to be easy on her rider, moving as if on rails. Midnight had no such desire, puffing himself up and prancing as if to show off to the oblivious Kumara. The two riders laughed at their faithful steeds, and soon arrived at the building site. The workers were shutting down for the day, but the architect was happy to show them the plans, and the nearly completed shell.

  
Built half-way into the rocky outcrop at the edge of the forest, the place was huge, a mansion of stone with a barn designed in a similar fashion only a few hundred yards away. The building fronts were of native stone, glass and solid timber, blending into the terrain almost invisibly. The area was sloped downward, away from the house to give a sweeping view that included parts of Sam’s property. It had all the hookups to water and power, the man told them, a well, a generator and a satellite footing for future need. All that remained to be done was the interior finishing, mostly of kitchens and baths. Two kitchens, Sam noted, eight baths, including one that was more of an indoor pool.

  
“But I don’t believe it’s on the market,” the architect told them, after having shown them around. “And even if it was, it wouldn’t go cheap. The market is pretty tight these days, especially in San Diego county. But the design should minimize any fire danger, as well as can be expected short of complete burial, a very important point, after the recent fires.”

  
“Thank you for the tour,” Sam told him, thinking about how close to the forest her house was, and more importantly, the horses. “It was nice to find out what kind of neighbors I’ll probably have.”

  
“Couldn’t say, I’ve never spoken to the owners,” the architect told them, grinning. “Easiest kind of boss to work for, one who doesn’t hang over your shoulder making last minute changes. Just spoken to the banker, who had fairly easy instructions. Build it to last, make it big, two separate, but connected living areas, and make it work with the land, yet have all the modern conveniences. I had fun designing it, the design was approved, no fuss, no two or three approval meetings, just do it. Wonderful way to work.”

  
“And what sort of neighbors do you expect from a place like that, Sam?” asked Morgan as they rode home. “A rich rancher, a banker, a horse breeder?”

  
“Likely a drug dealer, or a media type,” Sam told him, seriously. “Drug dealers make lots of money, have no scruples and like their privacy, like Carlos. Media types might do something similar, maybe a movie star.”

  
“Well, it seems it’ll be a rich rancher, in spite of your expectations, dear,” he chuckled. “Keep the riff-raff out of the area, don’t you know?”

  
“Why two separate living areas, doll?” she asked as they put their horses up. “I mean, it’ll be great for a cooking contest, but we’re doing fine with four of us in my house, aren’t we?”

  
“Well, if I hadn’t made it back, you could have had a separate place for Brooke, or guests,” he told her. “If I did make it back, with Hawk, I thought it might be nice to be alone sometimes. Now, it seems that Hawk and Brooke will be able to sleep, at least, when our baby arrives. You have no idea how I’m anticipating that, by the way, it just is so exciting to me.”

  
“Hmm, the way Brooke and Hawk are going, it might not be a lot different for them,” said Sam with a grin of mischief. “Wonder if they cooked, or if Brooke still has them cleaning?”

  
Dinner was, in fact, one of Brooke’s casseroles, a masterpiece of simple construction and elaborate taste. The evening progressed to separate bedrooms, but very similar activities. The shakes did not attack Sam’s nerves that night, though she had odd dreams, full of very dark figures that were protecting her. Not a bad way to view it, she told herself the next morning. After all, she had the Masked Rider protecting her very closely, and was about to have the Batman, more or less, pay a visit. A useful mental image to keep her psyche balanced, after trauma.

  
Bruce Wayne showed up a bit before noon, driving a black Range Rover, and was introduced to the two figures out of legend. He seemed to be exceptionally serious, to Brooke, who had less experience with the billionaire than Sam. A minimal test of Morgan’s blood, which the outlaw assumed to be routine, and Sam knew was probably invented the night before, proved Sam’s story. Now he wanted the full story.

  
“Well, let’s go look at some horses while we talk,” suggested Sam, making lunch suggestions to Brooke with her hands. Brooke took the hint and vanished into the kitchen with Hawk looking amused. “It’s not a story I want easily, ah, eavesdropped on, if you don’t mind.”

  
“Fine,” said Wayne, the modern one, seeing her point. “After you.”

  
They wandered around the property as Sam told her story, avoiding, hopefully, any parabolic mics or bugs.

  
“I was riding out on the trail, well, off the trail, and came across a gunfight,” she explained. “I thought it was a re-enactment, maybe a sequel to that movie, or a TV shoot. But no one moved, so I went down and found some nasty holes in the guy in black. I dug out the bullets, patched him up, put him on his horse and retraced my steps until the GPS went ‘beep.’ Marked the spot. Took him home, fixed him up, noted a very strong family resemblance, in more than just the eyes, the chin. Let him know about you, figuring he’d be pleased to know his family, part of it, survived. Showed him around a little, got really friendly, sent him home, or at least, back to his own time. Told him come back if he could.”

  
“And you did,” said Bruce Wayne, looking at Morgan with an eye that missed nothing, especially the relaxed way the outlaw wore his guns. “Some would have chosen the past over the future.”

  
“I chose the woman I loved over the world I knew,” Morgan told him, his voice certain. “And glad I came back, or Sam and Brooke might be dead. Hawk and me found Sam beaten, raped, bait in a trap for Brooke with the intent to blow them both to bits. Still, seems I need to be integrated into this world, with documentation and papers and such. I very carefully left no such thing in existence in my previous life.”

  
“Why do you need documentation?” asked the Batman's public face, knowing how useful it could be to have no records on a person, in certain lines of work. “You could live quite easily without that, many illegal aliens do, just in this country.”

  
“Because I made some preparations back then,” said Morgan, firmly. “I had a firm do some investing for me. Did well at it, as there was no luck to the thing, I had a book. Fella on the phone yesterday tells me the money comes to about five billion, give or take. The man with the tax stamp is gonna look me over pretty hard, and I’d like no one to think they might be able to place me. Don’t like the idea someone might try to figure out our time rift, and it’s iffy, anyhow, since time runs different on both sides.”

  
“Ah, I see,” said Bruce, ears easily catching the low words, even as they walked. “You need a cover story. And since you are actually related to me, a long lost cousin would explain things to most, anyway. Hmm. Need a social security number, a birth certificate, bare minimum, a good reason to need them only now, and possibly a good lawyer. Let’s see, do you speak Spanish?”

  
“Mexican version,” agreed Morgan, in the language, “can clean it up to Castilian, if I have to.”

  
“Well, say you’ve been living with an obscure branch of the family, in, oh, Belize,” said Bruce, as they went back to his Land Rover. “Last of the family there, you came back to the States after getting your notification of this fortune. A will? Great-grandfather, maybe?”

  
“So I told the banker,” agreed Morgan, fascinated at how well Sam had planned already. “Got a way to prove I’m the rightful ‘heir’, but it involves going to New York, probably with Sam, and I’m not sure I want to do that while Brooke’s ex is trying to kill her. Feller named Carlos, drug runner, I gather, and don’t like her being a loose end, seems like. Figured with a little money, though, we could get some protection, and Hawk and me’d go reason with the man. Might even leave him alive.”

  
“Money does make some things easier,” said Bruce mildly. “I know you’ve killed people in the past, and I understand why, it was a lawless time. But I strongly suggest you avoid that in the present. In this country that kind of thing is usually solved very quickly.”

  
“So Sam told me,” agreed Morgan, as the man who ‘ruled Gotham’s night’ pulled out a laptop and began typing. “Saw that CSI show, figure I’m retired, anyhow. Still, it isn’t right, someone tryin’ to kill a friend of mine, riles me. And hurting Sam, that’s askin’ fer killin’.”

  
“Oh?” said Bruce, distractedly, as he typed in requests to several very secure locations. “Particularly Sam?”

  
“She’s family,” said Morgan bluntly. “My fiancé, and she’s carrying our baby. All bets are off if someone threatens her, hurts her, kills her, understand?”

  
“She’s pregnant?” said Wayne, looking up in some mild surprise. “And you intend to marry? Congratulations. And here I thought I was the last of the Waynes. According to family legend, you, and your family, died in a fire in New York, but I did some research, after that biography was published, and I reached some different conclusions.”

  
“Sam’s healed up some old wounds,” Morgan said softly, “but some things I ain’t ready to talk about, still. ‘Less you want to talk about what made you the way you are.”

  
“Not open for discussion,” said Bruce Wayne coldly, and Sam recognized the voice of the Dark Knight. “Point taken. I’ll have a passport, a social security card, and a birth certificate ready by tomorrow. I’ll FedEx them out from Gotham and you should be documented fully by next Monday. There’ll be entry records at customs, some spotty records in Belize, which will be more believable than solid histories. Did you attend a college or university?”

  
“Yes, Harvard,” nodded Morgan. “Law, though I read a little medicine.”

  
“We’ll make it some obscure European school,” muttered Bruce, tapping some more. “I’ll send you a brief. Memorize the information, it will all be backed up by records. Do you want particular names for your ‘parents’ or do you care?”

  
“Make it work for the records,” Morgan told him with a shrug. “It won’t change what I know, or that they’re long dead. Here and now, making this world work, that’s what’s important. Family, well, I have one again, and I’m not going to lose them. Hawk, Brooke, Sam, the baby, those are the people I care about, need to protect, provide for, make happy. I’d feel responsible for you, too, but Sam assures me that you can take care of yourself. Not, understand, that you aren’t welcome to come visit, being kin.”

  
“I’ve never really had family, real, blood relations,” admitted Bruce, closing up the laptop. “My family is more added to by circumstance, by need, not by marriage or the usual means. It’s a method that works for me, with the life I lead. The fewer hostages to fortune the better, with the enemies I have.”

  
“So I lived my life,” agreed Morgan soberly. “And when you hunt killers and outlaws while being hunted yourself, it’s not a life a woman could tolerate, even Sam. But that’s over, that kind of lawlessness was a brief part of history, and I did my best to stem it. Now I mean to try to live a normal life again, if someone can do that after what Hawk and I have done.”

  
“I wish you luck,” said Bruce Wayne sincerely. “I can’t just let go like that. Gotham is a place that needs me, and shows no sign of allowing me to retire. You should let me know if you decide to visit, I’m often out, busy, ah, occupied by business.”

  
“Go to Gotham City?” snorted Sam, who had been silent for some while. “Not a chance. Place is full of weirdos, criminals, lunatics and politicians. No, you come here to take a break, ride around in the hills, swap stories where no one else can hear you, fine. You know my hand-to-hand combat skills aren’t up to your levels. I’d end up killing someone, and you’d be mad. Bad enough he says we gotta go to New York. That place is full of metas, mutants, and vigilantes, all looking for terrorists, these days. That should be a lot safer.”

  
“Such sarcasm,” chuckled Bruce Wayne, admitting the truth to himself. “Remember not to pack guns, the airlines are tough on that, these days, even in checked luggage.”

  
“No worries,” Sam assured him, grinning. “Road trip! See a little of the country, what has and hasn’t changed. Maybe my soon-to-be-hubby will learn to drive. Still, have to get Carlos behaving first, or Brooke and the horses won’t be safe.”

  
“Yes, the attempt on your lives was a very bad idea,” agreed the billionaire, who looked nothing like his playboy tabloid image at the moment. “What happened to the men who tried it?”

  
“Hawk killed ‘em,” said Morgan bluntly. “On my orders. He questioned one of ‘em to find out what was going on, since Sam couldn’t tell us, being that she’d finally let herself pass out. Still got that, what’d you call it? C4 stuff. Buried the bodies, which was better than they deserved, but they’d smell by now.”

  
“Well, I can’t say that wasn’t right,” sighed Bruce Wayne. “I wouldn’t have done that, but I have other methods, and other problems. Who were they?”

  
“Bunch of low-life _banditos_ ,” said Morgan with a growl. “Mexican gang-types, trying to get in good with the higher levels. Cannon fodder, really. I’m not sure Carlos expected them to succeed, and it seems that others have tried, also failing. Sam killed them, mostly. These just aren’t going to be reported.”

  
“Perhaps Carlos will have the good sense to stop for a while,” sighed Bruce. “Can’t Brooke call him and tell him you’re getting tired of it? He should know by now that Sam isn’t someone to fool with.”

  
“And she has more friends, now,” added Morgan. “Hawk wouldn’t mind a few words with Carlos on the subject, I think. Well, we’ll take care of that ourselves, somehow. Hawk and me, we used to know Mexico pretty well, and I don’t suppose the people have changed much, just like here. Good and bad, rich and poor, honest and dishonest. Human nature.”

  
“Yes,” agreed the man who ‘ruled Gotham’s night’, as they walked back toward the house. “Shall I get Hawk any documentation, while I’m at it?”

  
“Does he need it?” asked Sam, who knew as well as Bruce Wayne how useful no records could be. “Not right now, I think.”

  
“Lunch is ready,” Sam told them, seeing Brooke’s signal. “Can you stay?”

  
“No, I have, ah, an appointment tonight in Gotham,” Bruce Wayne told them, rather regretting it. It would have been interesting to talk with the Masked Rider about his methods, his cases. But Sam was right, privacy might be best, a ride out into the forest, just the two of them, a kind of mini-vacation. And there was the Scarecrow business tonight.

  
“A sandwich or something for the drive back?” asked Brooke, somewhat put out. Here was a very rich, handsome bachelor in hand, who, while no Blue Hawk, was generous with his money and might be convinced of a few needs. Morgan’s story of wealth not yet under his control was still only possible. Oh, well, must be polite, he had come a long way just to talk.

  
“That would be nice,” agreed Bruce, back to his charming persona, the one his unmasked side most often showed the world. Morgan smiled at the evidence that this man was a master of many skills, acting among them. A family affinity, perhaps, or learned by necessity? Morgan had seen at least three different characters, and heard four different voices. The rich, somewhat absent-minded playboy, the competent man of high finance and business, and the true face, he felt, the creature of the night.

  
Bruce Wayne drove off with a box of sandwiches and left the four to discuss his visit. Brooke, still unaware of his other identity, was still pleased at his promise to send Morgan documentation to support his new life. All agreed that Hawk probably didn’t need any such things, yet, and if he did, that could wait until after Morgan Wayne had become wealthy.


	15. Chapter 15

“Now, Sam,” said her fiancé, as they sat on the porch, “what’s a road trip?”

  
“Sort of a driving vacation,” Sam told him, as they relaxed, sitting in the shade of the porch with iced tea in hand. “Sure, it can be fun, and a lot quicker, to fly, but we can rent a car and drive to New York, then fly back. When you drive, you see the country, the towns, the land, the people. When you fly, you see clouds, maybe a little land at both ends from above, and a couple of airports, not much else. Should only take a week, if we loaf, maybe less.”

  
“North or south route?” asked Brooke, her lunch fixings having vanished quickly. “North would be cooler, south you could stop in Nevada to get married, see the Masked Rider Museum in Texas, maybe Six Flags.”

  
“I’ll think about it, but Carlos has to be settled first,” Sam said thoughtfully. “I think I’ll go call Cal and see what he thinks about it. He might have a suggestion or two.”

  
“Who is Cal?” asked Morgan, as Sam went inside to make the call. “An old boyfriend?”

  
“Masked Rider Museum?” asked Blue Hawk, curiously.

  
“Ah, Cal is an old friend of Sam’s family,” said Brooke, with a grin. “Taught her a lot of her martial arts moves, used to be a US Navy SEAL, that’s like totally deadly people, can kill you eight ways without touching you. He won’t like the attempt to kill Sam much, if she tells him. And there’s a museum in Texas, since there’s a school there that uses you as it’s mascot. It’s supposedly got a collection of stuff associated with you two. Texas Tech University, I think.”

  
“Too bad this Carlos feller’s so set on getting you, Ms. Brooke,” said Morgan, laughing at the idea of a museum about the two of them. “Shame when a marriage goes that bad. You an’ Sam keep talking about drugs. What kind of drugs? Why is that bad?”

  
“Ah, certain drugs are illegal, mostly because they’re dangerously addictive, and used recreationally,” Brooke told them. “Heroin, marijuana, cocaine, all grown or produced much more easily elsewhere, then smuggled into the U.S. and sold at huge profits on the streets. The major players in that sort of operation are usually well organized gangs with influence on local law and businesses, enough to be fairly open about it in Mexico. Corruption and poverty being endemic down there, money makes you powerful, and drugs often seem to make people more vicious, evil, if you like, than they were.”

  
“These drugs change a person?” asked Hawk curiously. “Could they not change a person to be good, from being evil?”

  
“Never heard of ‘em working that way,” shrugged Brooke. “Once someone gets addicted, they’ll do anything to get more of the drug, just as an alcoholic will do to get a drink, only much worse. And far more difficult to get out of the habit, than with drink, too. Recent studies show that there may be a genetic link to addiction, alcoholism, anyway, but heroin, cocaine, that’s almost impossible to avoid getting hooked, even with just one dose. But everyone says ‘oh, I won’t get hooked, I’m different.’ Then next thing they know, they’re selling everything they have, even their bodies, to get another fix. After that, the next step is a jail, or a morgue.”

  
“But you’re ex-husband,” commented Hawk, “he is not yet to that point?”

  
“No, but a year ago he wouldn’t have tried to kill me, either,” Brooke told the two men. “Beat me, yeah, he did that often enough, but he never tried to kill me, or have me killed. Hard to say, not having seen him for at least a year, what changes he might be going through, but that’s a good bet for the reasons.”

  
“Why would people do such things to themselves?” asked Hawk, puzzled. “Do they not understand what will happen?”

  
“Oh, lots of the same reasons people smoke or drink,” shrugged Brooke. “People know smoking causes lung cancer, drinking kills brain cells, but when you’re young, you think it makes you fit in, look cool, be one of the group. Being young, kids have no judgement, and soon they’re hooked, some do the same with drugs. Some drugs make you feel better, some make you hallucinate, others pep you up, some slow you down. Some do all of that, at different stages. Take too much, sometimes it kills you, yet, knowing that, kids still take drugs, either to prove something, or out of curiosity, or just out of teenage hormonal contrariness.”

  
“And this skunk Carlos smuggles the stuff in to do that to folks?” asked Morgan, wondering how Brooke had ever got hitched to such a man. “Don’t seem like your kind of feller, ma’am.”

  
“I don’t think he was, when I met him,” Brooke sighed. “He was good-looking, strong, well-off, and had tons of charm. He was a pilot, went exotic places, knew interesting people, and I was young and in love. Even after he started hitting me, I’d make excuses for him. Classic pattern. Except I met Sam, who told me I was being stupid, then kicked his butt, in public, for hitting me. That opened my eyes, I guess. I still can see him flying over the railing onto the beach. He got up ready to kill her, and she told him, loudly and with a crowd forming, that next time she’d break things, starting with his balls and ending with his neck. He lost his nerve and turned tail. I started the divorce proceedings the next day.”

  
“Then he does probably have a strong dislike of Sam, too,” concluded Morgan, seeing the very subtle signs of Blue Hawk angry. The Yaqui was not easy to read emotionally, but after years together, Morgan could do so. Though some Indian tribes treated their women poorly, the Yaqui did not, since there were so few left, each was precious. And Hawk had a reputation among many tribes as a very gentle, caring lover, as well as a reputation for valor. Morgan thought that Hawk was in a very specific rage, and that Brooke would benefit from it. “She does have some fancy moves, just like that Chinese feller we met once, Caine.”

  
“You guys met Kwai Chang Caine?” asked Brooke, diverted. “The Kung Fu guy? He’s a martial arts legend, even now. What happened?”

  
“Oh, nice feller, very quiet and gentle, but not standing for any nonsense,” chuckled Morgan. “Taught me an’ Hawk a few tricks, scolded us about violence and weapons, even after we kept him from bein’ lynched. Said he was a priest, acted like one, most of the time. Interestin’ fella.”

  
“And who else have the two of you met, famous, I mean?” asked Brooke, diverted from the depressing thoughts of her ex. “You ever meet Dusty Fog, Wild Bill Hickock, the Lone Ranger, Lincoln, Annie Oakly, Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, the Ghost Rider?”

  
“Most of ‘em,” admitted Morgan, “’ceptin’ Lincoln. Just missed keepin’ him alive, one of my bigger failures, I always thought. Met Grant, though, and Frank Hopkins, Calamity Jane, the Cisco Kid, most of ‘em as, if not friends, at least not enemies.”

  
“You never tell me you try to save Lincoln, Senor,” the Yaqui said mildly, but Morgan could see his eyes were still hard over anyone hurting Brooke. “But you have to come to Twenty-first Century for me to learn your real name. And Ghost Rider was very scary person, Senora, very scary.”

  
“Oh, I thought Calamity Jane a lot scarier than the Ghost Rider,” commented Morgan, seeing Sam returning. “A woman who tends to cause natural disasters wherever she goes is a lot more dangerous than a jasper that can disappear or glow in the dark.”

  
“Well, Cal says he wants an address for your ex, Brooke,” said Sam, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the house. “And says he wouldn’t mind taking a couple of experienced guys along, if they want to go. How about it, boys, want to go pay a visit to Carlos with my friend Cal?”

  
“Now that sounds like a good idea, Sam,” chuckled Morgan, seeing Hawk’s stolid face look pleased. “We need to bring anything to the party? That C4 stuff, maybe?”

  
“Cal brings enough stuff for a small army wherever he goes,” shrugged Sam. “He says he’ll take you two, but not me and Brooke. I think he wants the bodies to go back to Mexico, too, but I told him they’d be too ripe by now.”

  
“They’re fine where they are, Sam,” Morgan told her, approving of Cal’s idea. Taking Sam and Brooke closer to an enemy who wanted them dead would be stupid, especially to that enemy’s home ground. Better that they stay in their own territory, where they could defend themselves legally. “Let ‘em rot and forget ‘em. Carlos’ll do the same, soon.”

  
“Cal says he’ll pick you up at six,” said Brooke, returning from the house. “He’ll be bringing a friend, too. Now, since you two are going off to risk your necks for me, how about we give you a proper send-off, hmm?”

  
“Oh, I’d rather think of it as practice for when you come home all safe and sound,” said Sam, kissing Morgan with intent. “You know, no bullet holes, no knife wounds, all ready to make love, not war.”

  
“There’s a time and place for both, Sam,” murmured Morgan, kissing her bruised face. “And a little practice never hurt anyone. Would you like to practice?”

  
“Oh, doll, I could use some more practice,” she told him, her eyes closing in delight. “Although you, you’re already perfect.”

  
“Well, maybe we should check,” murmured Morgan in her ear, picking her up easily and heading for her bedroom. In short order, they were both naked and kissing each other with great passion. Morgan had quickly discovered that holding his fiancé so that she couldn’t move or escape now panicked her, but that allowing her freedom was very rewarding. He resolved to work on her, gradually, but preferred to leave her without trauma today. She was getting very good with her mouth, and her touch on his scrotum was exquisite. Still imagining her bound with silk, blindfolded and helpless beneath his loving assault was almost enough to make him lose his control. He made certain that he pleasured her into exhaustion, wringing her body out with orgasm after orgasm, spending himself only after she was damp with the sweet perspiration of repeated ecstasy. He left her asleep in her bed, rumpled and reeking of sex.

  
He showered quickly, met Hawk and fed the horses, and they were ready when a man dressed in black drove into the ranch in a dull tan vehicle with another man beside him. Morgan wore dark clothes, Hawk wore his own, time tested clothes, but neither bore guns.

  
“You two are Morgan and Hawk?” asked the big man, getting out of the vehicle, a bulky thing with very large tires. “Where’s Sam?”

  
“Sam and Brooke are very tired and hopefully will be asleep until we get back, and so not worry,” shrugged the outlaw, shaking the man’s hand. It had as much give to it as Bruce Wayne’s had, he thought, as did the man’s eyes. “We don’t like leaving ‘em alone, after what those _banditos_ tried a few days ago, but taking the argument to the source seems worth it. Won’t if we get back and find ‘em hurt, again, but I don’t want to take ‘em with us, neither.”

  
“Shouldn’t take long,” said the man, slender and lean, like a rawhide whip. “I’m Cal, this is Eric, the gear is in the back. Let’s go, we got some driving to do.”

  
“So,” said Cal, as Eric drove roughly southward, “you don’t think Sam can take care of herself? What makes you think so? All she told me was that Brooke’s ex was tryin’ t’kill her.”

  
“Well, me an’ Hawk got here a few nights back an’ found her beaten, raped and bait to trap Brooke,” shrugged the outlaw, letting his anger growl in his voice. “I don’t aim to let that happen again. If Brooke’s ex husband is sudden-like an ex ex-husband, ain’t nobody’s heart gonna break over it, see?”

  
“Ah, permanent talking to, then,” nodded Cal, as they sped through the night with eerie light cast by passing vehicles. “Yeah, see yer point. You boys done any killin’ before?”

  
“I buried the six hombres who hurt the Senorita in the forest,” grunted the Yaqui. “They did not commit suicide.”

  
“We done our share, with guns, knives, up close and from a distance,” said Morgan curtly. “Good at stalking, trailing and bein’ quiet. Not terribly familiar with the latest guns, but six-shooters, knives, no mystery. I’ve used a few automatics, but I wouldn’t say I’m good with ‘em.”

  
“No problem, it’s not gonna be complicated,” said Eric, who looked like he would blend into a crowd easily. “If we wanted someone alive, or to leave no trace, it would be more complex, but we don’t care here. If all we do is go and kill everyone, even the Mexican cops will figure it for rival drug gang stuff. We don’t get seen, should be no problems, as isolated as the place is. I checked it out on Google Maps, nothing else nearby.”

  
And it was, in fact, a fairly simple job, taking some half an hour to get in and kill any who resisted. Most of the men killed seemed to be simply gunmen, though some were dressed better. Having seen a picture of Carlos, Morgan made certain he was among the dead. Strangely, none of the men tried to surrender, and some of the things he saw in that compound made Morgan wonder about the sanity of the gang. The bodies of two young women and a young boy, apparently used as sexual toys, all recently strangled, particularly disgusted Morgan.

  
“Okay, we’re done,” said Cal over their small radios. “Back to the car, and don’t stop, I’ve set the timers for two minutes.”

  
Two minutes later, as they were driving sedately back out the road, the compound exploded and began to burn. It was a very professional job, reflected Morgan, as they returned north, unseen and without pursuit, across country and some places without lights. The military trained people very differently than in his day, if this was what was taught now. They got back to Sam’s place at dawn, and were feeding the horses when Brooke and Sam woke up.

  
Sam let Morgan finish feeding, then took him to her bedroom. They showered together, made love to each other, and fell asleep again, waking famished a little after noon. Cal and Eric were long gone, of course, having simply let the two westerners out and driven away. Sam and Brooke got few details from the two men, but were assured that Brooke’s ex husband would no longer trouble her, in any way.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> road trip and spiderman

Several days later, with Brooke and Hawk firmly paired, and left to run the farm, Sam and Morgan set off to New York, having rented a nearly new sedan to do so. Sam had reluctantly vetoed any firearms, as there appeared to be many conflicting laws in the states they would pass through. Feeling a little naked, Morgan agreed, and the two set off, as if on safari. At Morgan’s insistence, they went first to Las Vegas for a quick, legal wedding, Sam’s bruises faded enough to cause no comment, now.

  
The garish, saloon-like atmosphere of that town made Morgan nervous, as all that money undoubtedly drew human sharks. Sam agreed, and told him several of the more colorful tales of the place. They stayed the night at the Luxor, with Sam criticizing the fake Egyptian décor at every turn. Still, the air conditioning impressed Morgan, particularly as they engaged in traditional wedding night activities. Their sex was exquisite, sweet with emotion, smooth with experience, and spiced with ecstasy throughout. Morgan loved calling Sam ‘Mrs. Wayne’ at every opportunity and the complimentary champagne was completely ignored.

  
Sam had been relieved to find that in the time he’d spent in his own era, Morgan had quit smoking, entirely due to her influence. As his endurance had improved dramatically, and his sense of smell improved, he had not been tempted to take up the habit again, especially now that he had a family again. Drinking, too, was no temptation to him, as it had usually been a means to an end for him, even at his darkest days. Once, only a saloon would have held the news he needed, the people he hunted, the means to achieve some villain’s downfall, and that had required a drink in hand, at the least.

  
Now, he found that there were much more pleasant things to drink, to taste deeply of, to savor. Sam told him he’d likely find most drinks in the modern age a bit watered down from what he was used to, but he was still untempted by the thousands of bars and such that they drove by as they left. They visited the Hoover Dam on their journey, an awesome human achievement that impressed Sam as much as Morgan, and marveled at the vast curve of the thing.

  
The wide stretches of land they drove through seemed unchanged to Morgan, the tiny hamlets familiar in feel, if not in actuality. Gas stations had replaced livery barns, motels had replaced hotels, the honky-tonk had replaced saloons, but much remained of what he had once known. The dust and heat and slow pace, the mild interest in a stranger passing through. The rail roads that they sometimes drove next to often carried endless freight, and Morgan was amused to recognize many names of the lines. And Sam told him stories of her grandfather, who had been an engineer, and he told her stories of train robberies and rescues he had been involved in.

  
They did, indeed, make a stop at the Masked Rider Museum, a small building on the campus of the Texas Tech University. Much of the ‘historical’ information was inaccurate, though positive, and Sam noted recent corrections had been made from the biography. Almost half of the little exhibit was about the people and horses who had been the school’s mascots at games for nearly seventy years. Morgan had several chuckles about the exhibits, and left in a very good mood.

  
Sam took advantage of his mood that night, at a very nice motel, and the sex was playful and very vigorous that night. They woke luxuriously late and continued their journey, now heading north-east, toward their ultimate goal of New York. Bigger cities, more farmland, most of it neatly kept, with vast fields of arrow-straight growth, now appeared. Farms all seemed to have huge machines with odd devices or intents, most of them ‘John Deere green’ as Sam told him, explaining what she knew about modern farming.

  
Eventually they came to what seemed a permanent, vast city, joined by broad ribbons of concrete roads, thronged with people and cars. Morgan was very glad Sam was driving, as she seemed not at all worried or confused by the myriad signs. They made their way to a nice hotel that overlooked the huge Central Park and only made Morgan cringe at the prices. The next morning, having, in Morgan’s case decided it might be worth the price, they called the man they’d come to see. Dressed up a little more than usual, they went down to meet the limo Mr. Stockton had promised to send.

  
They had just stepped out onto the street, a covered portion of sidewalk, to await the ride, when a voice called down from above them. Cheerful and unfamiliar, Morgan could not place the speaker until Sam looked up and waved.

  
“Hey, Sam, I didn’t hear there was a horse show on. What brings you to the Big Apple?”

  
“Spidey!” said Sam, looking up with a grin. “I’d ask you how it was hanging, but I can always tell with you. No, didn’t even bring a horse this time. We’re here on business. Morgan, Spiderman, a friend of mine. Spiderman, my new husband, Morgan Wayne.”

  
The man she introduced so casually was hanging upside down above them in a loose-limbed bundle of arms and legs, suspended by a thread from the hotel marquee. He wore a garish red and blue costume, a full face mask with white eye spots and web lines on the red parts. Not a single part of his body or face was exposed to view, but he seemed unconcerned at the painted-on look of the thin fabric.

  
“Husband?” repeated that slightly muffled, but cheerful voice. “Congratulations, both of you! Sam, you need help with this ‘business’?”

  
“Not your kind of help, no,” laughed Sam, as the limo pulled up at the curb. “You busy at about eight? Meet us at the Peter Pan statue and we’ll talk, okay?”

  
“I’ll try, but you know how us friendly neighborhood spidermen are about appointments,” said that youthful voice. “All the best intentions go poof if Doc Ock crosses my path.”

  
“No problem,” shrugged Sam, as the doorman opened the limo door for them. “Room’s got a nice window and balcony, you can find us.”

  
“Nice to meet you, son,” said Morgan, politely taking off his hat as Sam slid into the long black car. The oddly limber man above them seemed to launch himself up and out over the street, barely missing a bus, and swing out of sight, apparently on the thin web lines. He followed Sam into the open door and found himself surrounded by plush leather, elegant chrome and glass. “Sam, how do you know him?”

  
“Oh, kinda the same way I know anyone, I guess,” shrugged Sam, relaxed on the wide black leather. “He happened by as some fools tried to mug me a few years ago, and was going to help, until he found that I didn’t need that much help. He’d already been badly hurt in a different fight, and I helped him out when he fell on the cement. He recovered quickly, though, he’s a metahuman, not a normal human.”

  
“You have some kind of talent for finding injured good-guys,” chuckled Morgan, hoping shiny boots, clean jeans and a nice shirt would be dressy enough for this meeting. He didn’t really have anything fancier. Sam, however, was looking very nice in a silky trouser and tunic suit, which was loose, and yet clung in emerald folds to her in interesting ways. “Me, him, you-know-who.”

  
“Well, I hate to see the good guys get hurt,” shrugged Sam, relaxed with her greater familiarity with such modern conveniences. “And yet, they always get hurt, it’s the nature of the job. I always say, if you get out of life without a few scars, you’re not doing it right. Though, a little less might be good with some people. Me, you, Hawk, Brooke.”

  
“He certainly seems flexible,” commented Morgan, as they inched along the streets. “What else can he do? Does he do, I should say?”

  
“Um, sticks to any surface, and likes to do it upside down, probably to weird people out,” said Sam, thinking about it. “Has huge strength, speed, awesome reflexes and senses, almost a psychic ability to know when something’s wrong. I think the webs are a device, though, not naturally produced. Incredibly resilient, and tough, and very responsible. He never passes up a chance to help someone, especially a crime in progress. Has a very sharp mind, a sharp wit, and an infinite good humor about things. Loves to trade jokes, bad puns, insults during a fight, or just a conversation.”

  
“Does he make a living doing this costume revue?” asked Morgan, who hadn’t quite figured out this super human facet of modern life. “I mean, here it’s mid-morning, and he’s flying around in underwear, or paint.”

  
“No, but he gets around town a lot faster that way than we’re getting, doesn’t he?” chuckled Sam, for they still could see their hotel. “Can’t go web-swinging around Manhattan in his real face, I guess, so he uses the costume. Like certain other folks, he’s likely got his reasons for the mask, and who am I to say that’s odd?”

  
“And you want to meet up with him tonight?” asked Morgan, admiring his wife and wondering if she would be easy to get out of the silky suit. “Why?”

  
“Just for conversation,” shrugged Sam, well aware of how enticing Morgan found that gesture. “He’s a nice guy, a friend, and it’d be nice to get the two of you acquainted. He’s a useful sort of friend to have in this town, after all, like our friend in Gotham, in case of trouble. Also, he knows all the gossip about the meta community.”

  
“I see,” nodded Morgan, aware that the driver could hear them, and unwilling to say more. “And there are more like him around? How many others do you know?”

  
“Oh, there are lots of other metahumans, powered superhumans, mutants, in this town,” shrugged Sam, and not very worried did she seem about it. “Like Gotham seems to have homicidal lunatics, New York seems to breed flamboyant heroes. I don’t know many others, not to call friends, really, though I have a passing acquaintance with Iron Man, who works for Tony Stark. I suppose I could know a lot of others, and not know it, if you see what I mean. No costume, no use of whatever power one has, who could say our driver isn’t, oh, Captain America or the Silver Surfer? You know how that works, after all.”

  
They finally put into a port, of sorts, stopping before the City Bank Tower, and being ushered into the very modern lobby. Rather than take them into the actual bank, the svelte young woman in business suit and skirt took them up a set of elevators to the thirty-second floor, then to a large office with a magnificent view of the harbor.

  
“Mr. Wayne, please come in,” said a distinguished-looking older man behind the desk, standing and coming around to greet them. “I’m James Stockton, the trust manager. Thank you, Evie, that’ll be all for now.”

  
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stockton,” said Morgan, politely shaking hands. “This is my wife, Sam Grey, or she was a Grey until a few days ago. Now she’s a Wayne, I reckon.”

  
“Ah, congratulations, both of you,” said the banker, eyeing Sam sharply. “Odd, that’s the same name as appears in the alternate instructions of the trust. Instructions that were written over a hundred years ago, I might add. I was sure they referred to a man. How did your ancestor know things so clearly?”

  
“Can’t say,” said Morgan, politely seating Sam first. “Family stories say he was a strange fella. Was supposed to have ridden all over the country, done a lot of different things, none he really stuck to. Moved down to Belize and took up horse training, and family lore says he died thrown from a green filly at the age of ninety-two. Always told tall tales, and some of ‘em right strange, so my pa always said.”

  
“You might wish to have written down those tales, Mr. Wayne,” said Stockton, smiling, “because whatever he wrote as instructions on financial matters was spot on. The managers of your trust have made a tidy pile for themselves over the years, just by doing the same things for themselves as they did for the fund. I do, however, need to fulfill one more aspect of the instructions before we proceed. The authentication of you as the new owner requires proof.”

  
“Oh, yeah, the map,” agreed Morgan, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “The family stories say it’s a treasure map, but I never believed in that sort of thing. Do you have the other half?”

  
“Yes, indeed,” agreed the agent, pulling a piece of paper, carefully preserved in plastic, from a folder. “And it is, indeed, a treasure map, Mr. Wayne, if it matches. And it does. Congratulations, once again, you are now a very rich man.”

  
“Hmm, doesn’t feel different,” grinned Morgan, glancing over at Sam. “I’m thinking I was rich as soon as Sam came into my life. Will it pay the hotel bill?”

  
“You could easily buy the hotel,” laughed Stockton, examining the map. “What is this map of, the Colorado River? What kind of treasure would be there?”

  
“Aztec gold, according to the story,” shrugged Morgan. “Supposedly cursed, buried along with an entire tribe of local Indians. Not something I’m interested in pursuing. Got a family to support, friends, a new life to explore, don’t think I want to risk curses.”

  
“Well, let’s discuss the terms of your credit line, the way you want to access your money, that kind of thing,” said Stockton, pulling out a large sheaf of papers. Sam noted that he carefully put the two halves of the map into a desk drawer, not the folder they had been in before. The banker was efficient, and in an hour, Morgan had a credit card that Stockton assured him would be better than cash, an account arranged with a branch in San Diego, and a subsidiary account in Sam’s name.


	17. Chapter 17

They agreed to let the bank keep managing the stock portfolio, and the majority of the lands. Some of the land leases were very lucrative, especially those in San Francisco and Los Angeles. The building under construction was formally transferred to Morgan Wayne, and the trust would finish paying the builders. To test the banker’s claims, Morgan took Sam in a taxi to Tiffany’s, and bought her a wedding ring in diamonds, very similar to her engagement ring. It was very expensive, and Sam protested, insisting that rings were a bad idea around horses, anyway. So Morgan added a thin gold chain that she could string them on when she rode. Sam reluctantly accepted that idea, remarking that horses were her idea of wealth, what else did one need?

  
“Are you part Indian?” chuckled Morgan, as they left to scandalized looks from the staff. “Many of the tribes thought so, too. Reckoned me an’ Hawk darn rich, by that standard. An Osage chief offered me all his daughters and six horses for Midnight, once. They were very pretty girls, all three of them.”

  
“Not tempted?” asked Sam as she waved for a cab. “Or none of the horses were good enough?”

  
“Well, none of them were as fast, no,” Morgan told her, and looked over at his wife, looking very sophisticated in her silk suit. “And I’d already met you. The girls didn’t tempt me, no. But I believe Hawk had some fun with the oldest, all of nineteen, I’d guess.”

  
“He’s had more experience than you, then?” asked Sam curiously, as they got into the cab that had just let out a very stylish woman and her small dog. “He and Brooke’ll suit each other very well, I’ll bet. So, what do you feel like doing for dinner?”

  
They had a nice time wandering through the park after dinner, gradually making their way toward the famous Peter Pan statue in the park. At eight they were sitting on a bench, just talking and just after dark. They were rudely interrupted by a man with a knife who demanded money. Sam sighed and stood up, not pleased. Didn’t this fool know the Park was hunting territory for fledgling superheroes?

  
“Go on your way,” growled the woman, anger making her sound feline. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I warn you, you’ll get hurt.”

  
“Stupid bitch, I said give me your money!” shouted the wild-eyed man, waving the knife around in a very unprofessional manner. “And your jewelry, too! Hurry up!”

  
“Don’t insult my wife, mister,” said Morgan, the words mild, but the tone was the growl of the Masked Rider, threatening and harsh. “She’s hard enough to get to wear jewelry as it is.”

  
“’Sides,” said a cheerful voice from above them all, “You’re not worth bothering about. Just sit and think about things for a while, and you’ll figure it out, once the drugs wear off.”

  
A blur of red and blue hurtled through the air, bounded up above the range of the lights, then landed at the base of a light post. Faster than Morgan could comprehend, the man was webbed tightly to the post, astonishment keeping him mute. Spiderman shook an admonitory finger at the mugger, while hanging upside down from the light post in front of him.

  
“I probably just saved your life, too! That lady can kick your tail any time she feels like it, and can do it to lots better men than you. And I can’t see her getting hitched to anyone not at least that good. If I were you, I’d find another line of work.”

  
“Little crowded?” suggested Sam archly of her friend. “Maybe our hotel would be better?”

  
“Maybe,” agreed the garishly costumed man. “You two eaten yet?”

  
“Yes, but if you haven’t, we can get something for you,” Sam told him, as Morgan satisfied his curiosity by poking at the webbing around the captive. It was hard, like cords, no longer sticky. “Room service okay, or shall we stop and get Chinese?”

  
“I adore wontons, anything shrimp and broccoli is great,” said Spiderman, firing a web up into the darkness, and swinging up out of sight. Half an hour later, carrying a dozen little white boxes, they entered their room, to find Spiderman already there, easily sitting on a wall. Sam put the little boxes on the table and began laying out the plastic forks, wooden chopsticks and paper plates. Morgan went over to look at the way the Wall-crawler was attached to the wall, idly curious to see if he left marks.

  
“Son, that’s a good trick,” he said to the masked man. “But you can’t eat from there. Come on over and sit a while like normal folks and have some of this stuff. It looks darned odd, but it sure smells good.”

  
The mask was peeled up as far as his nose, revealing a strong, if unremarkable jaw, and he flipped acrobatically through the air to land lightly beside Sam. There was a very large bruise on the jaw, on his right side, but fading, a little blood on the chin, though the split lip was healed.

  
“Dang, Spidey, who pounded you this time?” asked Sam as she pushed the chairs closer to the low table. “Sit down already, will ya?”

  
“Oh, had another run-in with the Vulture,” shrugged the superhero, dropping bonelessly to the carpet, his legs crossed yogi-style. “That old man is one tough bird! But tell me all about your new hubby, Sam. Is he really as tough as you are? And is he gonna siddown or hover on guard?”

  
“Come sit down, doll,” laughed Sam. “If anything is gonna happen, Spidey’ll know long before we will. Try the shrimp fried rice, it’s good.”

  
“Okay, this’ll keep me from dying,” sighed Spiderman a few moments later, having inhaled two of the boxes. “I haven’t been on a real regular eating schedule lately, and when I have a real fight, I burn calories like crazy. So, I guess you saved my life again, Sam.”

  
“Well, in that case, finish the rest,” said Sam, pushing the boxes toward him. “It’s not like I need any extra calories, after all.”

  
“So, how did you meet, the two of you?” asked Spiderman conversationally, taking up another of the boxes. “Don’t tell me she saved your life, too, Morgan.”

  
“Well, as it happens, yes, she did,” chuckled the outlaw. “I just had the sense to marry her afterward.”

  
“I haven’t actually saved his life, doll,” Sam told her grinning husband. “Really, he would have been fine, probably, the way he heals.”

  
“And what happened to you that she had to save you?” asked Spiderman, ignoring Sam’s modest protestations. “And how many other people has she saved, come to that?”

  
“Oh, I got shot a few times,” shrugged Morgan, watching the young man eat. “Least one other feller I know about, seems like he’s my distant cousin, Bruce Wayne. And I sure hope she doesn’t keep havin’ to save folks lives, it’s wearin’.”

  
“You’re related to Bruce Wayne, the Gotham City billionaire?” asked Spiderman, surprised. “Are you rich, too?”

  
“I guess so, now,” said Morgan with a grin. “Just had some banker tell me so. Guess five billion, or so, will be enough to keep Sam in the manner she is accustomed to, in other words, horses.”

  
“Yeah, that ought to be enough,” chuckled the hero, setting aside the last box. “Gonna have to watch her, though, or she’ll be spending it all on lost-cause things like Greenpeace and the Democratic Party!”

  
“No, we have a baby coming soon, that’ll slow her up somewhat,” said Morgan, not able to truly regret Sam’s apparent tendency to rescue heroes. “But she can keep on doin’ the rescue bit as long as she includes me. Gotta get her to teach me some of those martial arts moves, too. I’m good with a gun, my fists, but she’s magic the way she makes people fly over her head. Like to learn that.”

  
“I know some people here in New York who could teach you,” said the young man, having devoured the major portion of the food. “But if you’re not staying, it probably won’t do you any good. And Sam doesn’t have any horses here, so I’m betting you’ll be going back to the West Coast pretty soon.”

  
“Oh, I can teach him basics,” said Sam, seeing to the clean-up of the little white boxes. “And Cal can come up with the more advanced stuff, if he likes. No need for Iron Fist or Shang Chi or whoever it is you know here, I’m sure. At least Cal doesn’t drop everything to go hunt down super-villains, most of the time.”

  
“Yeah, you stay here, you’ll probably turn this place into hero convalescence central,” laughed Spiderman, cleaning his face with a paper napkin before pulling his mask back down. “By tomorrow you’d have, oh, Daredevil on your couch, maybe an X-man on the floor.”

  
“Nah, we’re leaving tomorrow,” shrugged Sam, noticing that the bruise had faded as they had been eating. “You know where to find me, if you’re ever out there, needing help, just for fun, whatever.”

  
“Sam, I haven’t had a vacation since I was a kid,” Spiderman told her seriously. “Us Spidermen, we’re busy guys. I can’t seem to get out of the City without it being to some other dimension with the Avengers or to some mutant island with Wolverine, or down to Florida with the FF. And it’s always the same thing, fighting, pushing the limits of my spider-strength to save the world or something like. I would love to just come hang out with you and your horses and Morgan and whoever, but the costume attracts crazies, and I can’t afford airfare, anyway.”

  
“Yeah, but the offer stands,” Sam told him as he stood up, looking slender and lithe in the tightly fitted costume. “I’m gonna give that Jameson guy another little piece of my mind, too, when I get the chance. Such a rat he is! Can’t he find any real news to put in that rag of his?”

  
“Oh, JJ is just selling papers, or trying to,” shrugged the hero. “So, you folks have a nice trip home, and I’ll try to call some time and find out about the baby. Thanks for dinner and the chance to relax a little. Bye!”

  
And he was gone, flying off in arcs from the balcony up and around into higher buildings. Morgan shook his head and marveled at how lucky he was that Sam hadn’t become attached to any of these powerful, heroic men before he had crossed her path. And had the boy really meant he had saved the world, and more than once? He didn’t seem like he would have joked about that.


	18. Chapter 18

“Well, now you’ve met two real-life superheroes,” said Sam to her husband, putting her arms around him from behind, head on his broad back. “What do you think? Okay, one not in costume, but still who he is. They’re just regular people, mostly, though I don’t know how regular the first one is, ever. Still, a person with powers seems to attract enemies, powerful, usually crazy enemies. Poor Spidey, he’s always got the Goblin, the Rhino, Doc Ock or someone after him, though they’re usually only after money. Gotham is full of homicidal maniacs.”

  
“And I guess it’s no longer acceptable to kill your enemies in fair fights?” guessed Morgan, liking the sensual feel of his wife along his back, warm and affectionate. She nuzzled his ear and soon the two of them were naked and in bed, exercising vigorously. Morgan had found that without her normal exercise routine of riding and feeding her horses, Sam put her energy into sex with him, to his very intense pleasure. It was quite delightful to lay quietly beneath her as she worked him in and out of her warm, moist body. Still, he preferred to be the one pleasing her, exhausting her, worshiping her body with his own.

  
The next morning, having arranged to fly to San Diego through the hotel, they took a taxi to La Guardia, and eventually boarded their plane. Morgan confessed to being both nervous and excited, and once seated, stayed glued to the small window, watching everything. The actual takeoff went smoothly, the climb was easy, but the grin on Morgan’s face was quite that of a little boy enjoying himself hugely. He only settled back in his seat after watching the top side of clouds paled. Sam laughed and showed him their schedule included a stop in Denver, so they would get to try out various airports, pilots and seats.

  
Morgan was careful to read all the information in the airline magazine, plotted their flight path, noted their arrival and departure times and in general studied the whole affair. Sam reflected that her father had always done the same, so perhaps it was a male ‘thing’. Morgan was fascinated when she mentioned that her father had a pilot’s license and could fly small planes. That kept her busy explaining the differences in size, skills, abilities of various types of flying until they began to descend into Denver. She had resorted to likening the various types of craft to horses, buggies, stagecoaches and trains. The turbulence of their descent didn’t phase Morgan one bit.

  
By the time they landed in San Diego, at local noon time, Morgan was able to counterfeit the same relaxed and casual demeanor as the other passengers. Sam still felt his pleasure and interest, however, as they retrieved their bags and were met by Hawk and Brooke. She had driven the larger truck, which had an extended passenger space, and everyone fit very comfortably. Morgan gave Hawk a quick sketch of their journey as they drove, And Sam showed Brooke the newest ring.

  
“When you gonna tell your parents, Sam?” asked Brooke, casually negotiating the freeway off ramp. “Are they back from Europe or Asia or wherever it was this time?”

  
“Maybe,” said Sam, enjoying the larger leg room of the cab. “I’ll call, when we get home. Oh, said ‘hi’ to Spidey while we were in the City. You got any shows coming up?”

  
“Next week is the National at Del Mar,” said Brooke, turning into the driveway to Dudley’s Bakery. “You gonna come this year?”

  
“Might, if we can get the horses all taken care of,” said Sam, wondering if having Morgan to help might hurry or hinder the barn routines. It had certainly been nice to have someone to help feed. Of course, he was nice in so many other ways, as well. But that would be obvious, soon enough, though she hadn’t done any writing since she’d met him.

  
“National what?” asked Blue Hawk, trying to identify all the various scents in the air. “Why are we stopping here?”

  
“The Del Mar National Horse Show, English week,” said Brooke, as Sam got out and locked the door. “We’re here for bread. What kind do you like? They’ve got about twenty different sorts, I think.”

  
“Last week was Western week, this week is Dressage week, next week is English Week, at the show,” Sam explained to the two men as they followed Brooke into the large, single story building. Half an hour later they emerged with two boxes full of warm, plastic wrapped loaves. Sourdough, rye, potato, black and date nut raisin, Sam’s personal favorite. She passed around the loaf in the truck and it was gone before they got home.

  
“Well, Sam, could we maybe hire someone to look after the place while we all go to this here show?” asked Morgan, as they drove into the ranch. He found himself strangely glad to see the place, familiar and not too modern, the way New York had become. “We got the money, if we want to do that, now. And we can go look over the new place, too, see what else you think needs doing.”

  
“Right now, I want to go ride,” said Sam, getting their bags out of the back bed. “I haven’t been on a horse in over a week, I’m going into withdrawal. Kummi!”

  
“Hey, look, isn’t that the same car that Bruce Wayne came up here in?” asked Brooke, pointing down near the barn. On further inspection, it seemed that he’d found no one home, saddled up his old pony Scooter, and gone for a ride. A note invited Morgan to follow, if he chose. The outlaw was willing, and soon the couple had saddled up and headed out along the trail Wayne had left, easy to follow, into the forested hills.

  
Scooter stood waiting for them in a slightly open area not far into the forest, a huge dark figure on his back. The Batman was sitting easily on his back, cloak draped around him like a fanciful housing. The dark bay polo horse seemed not at all concerned, and when they rode closer, he only nodded and turned his horse to ride deeper into the forest. Sam and Morgan followed, the outlaw admiring the elegant cowl and cape, dramatic and seeming of one piece. After they had ridden a ways, the Dark Knight stopped at a small clearing, the tiniest little stream at its center, boulders lining the edges and tumbled up the hill on one side.

  
“Is this place close to anything?” asked the dark figure, voice that hard, serious voice that Morgan had figured for his real one. “Can we talk here?”

  
“Sure, nearest anything is my place,” shrugged Sam. “You want me to leave?”

  
“No, you can stay,” said the dark figure, almost blending in with the gathering gloom of the forest, dismounting and standing in the shadows. “I just felt curious, wanted to talk, and if I don’t do it when I have the chance, things will interfere. Tell me how you became the Masked Rider, if you don’t mind.”

  
“No real secret now,” shrugged Morgan, getting off of Midnight and letting the horse graze. Sam went so far as to take off her mare’s bridle and hang it on the saddle. “You know what the records say, don’t you?”

  
“You were a district attorney trying to fight a gang who had a grip on part of New York City,” nodded the Batman, still mysterious and somehow regal in the shadows. He tied the bay’s reins so they wouldn’t slide down his neck, then let him graze, too. “The gang was probably responsible for the deaths of your family, wife, daughter and several servants, all found in the ruins when the house burned. You were popularly supposed to have been in the house, as well, but police reports listed you as missing. A year later the gang was systematically decimated, killed one by one until several fled west in an effort to elude their fate. You, I assume.”

  
“Close enough,” said Morgan, his heart heavy with memories, details he would never speak of, not even to this man. “Never went back. Kinda threw over the law for justice, though if both could be served, I did so. Hawk an’ me, we met up a couple years later, had the same agenda, more or less, so we stuck together. Not a very complex story, really. Then Sam came into my life, an angel from the future, and things began to change, inside me, in the world I knew, and then me and Hawk jumped a hundred or so years into the future and sorta retired.”

  
“I can understand,” said the Batman, his tone soft, yet audible even over the birdsong, rustle of leaves and other sounds. “You know who I am, what I am, and I trained all my life, from childhood, for what I do. But I long ago made a choice not to take life, any life, even though my family, too, died before my eyes. I live every moment of my life to prevent that from happening to others.”

  
“Well, you probably didn’t see your family tortured to death in front of you,” growled Morgan, and Sam came to hold him in her arms, as he remembered. “I did, and a lot worse, so we’re not completely alike, son. And if a killing is what it takes to keep innocent folks alive, free, safe, I do the killing, and take the blame and the blood on my soul. I already got enough blood on my hands, a little more in a good cause won’t damn me any further.”

  
Sam could see the Batman smiling, even though their discussion was grim and seemed like an argument to Sam. The Dark Knight set something on the ground, then stepped into the light of late afternoon and took Morgan by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. The Batman smiling was kind of scary, Sam thought, backing away from the two of them a little.

  
“Morgan Wayne,” he said seriously, “I don’t blame you for the path you took. I don’t think what you did, in the past or the future, was wrong. It’s not my path, my way, my life, but that doesn’t make it wrong. It was, in fact, an honorable, noble choice, to put your life on the line for the lives of others, and it was and is, an inspiration to many.”

  
“You just want to talk philosophy, we can do that back at the ranch,” said Morgan, his gaze unflinching, the same dark blue steel in his eyes. “You want to talk methods, details, we’ll need to do it away from Brooke. She’s not in on this, has no idea who you really are.”

  
“If you can find this place in the dark,” said the Batman, stepping back from the couple, “I’ll meet you here next time. Send the rental back, will you?”

  
A rope snaked down from the sky, and Morgan and Sam looked up to see a silent helicopter hovering above them, black and unmarked. The Batman wrapped one powerful arm around the thin grey rope and was drawn upwards like a fish on a line. Sam and her husband watched as the craft sped out of sight.


	19. Chapter 19

“Guess we’ll take the horse back, too,” shrugged Sam, amazed at how much she knew, now, about both of these Wayne men. Their reactions to tragedy were different only in degrees, in circumstances, she reflected. Damn, what a guy she’d married. “But first, a little bit of this.”

  
She kissed him, and he kissed her, and soon they were doing more than just kissing. A sandy spot next to the center of the clearing, soft and giving, once a few weeds were pulled, was soon holding the two of them as they made slow, sensual love. Sam enjoyed pleasing her husband with her mouth, drawing his living essence into her with eagerness and delight, while he fought to resist her. Laughing, he lost his struggle, and soon was using his mouth and hands on her to please her in many ways. He waited until his body had rearmed itself, then finally entered into her shuddering body, a welcome invader, powerful and controlled. Sam’s cries of delight were mixed with moans and sobs, Morgan’s groans of effort and rapture, and the sounds of his steady, exquisite churning of her dripping center. When he finally let himself release into her, as she arched in orgasm beneath him, they lay panting and twitching for some time in the little sand pit.

  
Tempting as it was to fall asleep, as Morgan seemed to have done, laying both on her body and still inside her, Sam did not. The lengthening shadows announced the approach of evening, and Hawk and Brooke would worry if they didn’t return soon. She waited until Morgan’s big tool had withdrawn from her by itself, sated and relaxed, and then reluctantly rolled him to her side. She ran her fingers over his shoulder, up his neck to his forehead and brushed sweat-damp black curls from his face. His eyes opened and looked at her with a melting smile in them, a soul redeemed from hell, worshiping his own angel.

  
“Come on, doll,” she told him, wanting to test his body’s limits once more, but reining in her hot flare of desire. “You must be getting hungry, the way you were working. Want help getting dressed?”

  
“Like we’d ever end up dressed if we helped each other do that,” chuckled Morgan. “No real man would ever want to actually put clothes on you, except to keep you safe, keep you for his very own. The sunlight makes your skin glow like roses, like cream, your hair like coppery fire.”

  
“Come on, you silly,” she said, blushing with pleasure, but standing up and reaching for her clothes. “You need to put some clothes on to ride back, anyway. Though if anyone sees that gorgeous body of yours, they’ll want to take you from me, if they can.”

  
“No one will ever take me from you, my angel,” he told her, soft and quiet as he watched her dress quickly. He still enjoyed watching that almost as much as he enjoyed taking her clothes off. “And who else would see us here? Brooke and Hawk? I doubt Brooke’s in any mood to try for me, from what Hawk looks like, and if you don’t want to try four at a time, then we won’t. Damn, I’d like to see you ride sometime without clothes, though. It would be spectacular.”

  
“Oh, you have a Lady Godiva fetish?” smiled Sam, pulling him to his feet and handing him his jeans and the new briefs he liked so much better than long johns. “Well, get dressed now, Morgan, and I’ll consider it for a future date, okay?”

  
“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, getting dressed. “Just the kind of negotiations I like to hear.”

  
The next few weeks went smoothly, and Brooke went to the National with Hawk to help her, leaving Sam and Morgan to run the ranch. On the evening of their second day alone, the Batman called, requesting a meeting at their clearing. In a few minutes they had saddled their horses and hit the trail, arriving early enough to get a small fire started, and settling into a comfortable waiting position, each other’s arms. The horses were left on a grassy spot down by the streamlet, easily called for, and several boulders helped conceal their fire from almost anyone not directly above them. After a half hour, Sam got up to go check on the horses, while Morgan went to relieve himself behind one of the boulders away from the stream.

  
Sam was just coming back toward the fire when something scooped her up and carried her heavily to the ground beside a larger boulder. Only after she hit the ground, covered by a heavy, warm body did she realize that there had been a shot. She could see Morgan behind a nearby boulder, several yards away, gesturing toward the direction the shot had come from. Who was holding her down?

  
She managed to get free by pushing the body back against their sheltering boulder, only to find that it was their expected visitor, the Batman. The fire light showed an ominous shine beneath the cape, though he wasn’t moving, breathing hard. Sam ripped the fabric away from the wound and felt an icy hand touch her. There was a hole big enough to put her hand into, and it was spurting. Without hesitation, she reached inside his wound and found the spurting vein and pinched it shut. Now what?

  
“Sam, do you need me?” asked her husband in a low, carrying voice. He had a gun in his hand and a hard look on his face, ready to kill any who threatened her.

  
“No, stay there!” snapped Sam, realizing that the fire would show them all too easily if Morgan moved. “He’ll get you, too, and my hands are full now. And I need help, if I’m going to keep him alive this time, dammit. Major surgery and possibly a miracle.” 

  
“Third pouch on the left,” said a weak, faint whisper. Her eyes snapped back to the mortally wounded Dark Knight. “Cell phone. Push two. Talk to who answers.”

  
Sam fumbled her left hand into his indicated belt pouch and found a small black phone, flipped it open and did as he’d directed. She had blood up to her elbows, her back was sticky with gore, and he was beginning to labor to breathe. She held the tiny thing to her ear and heard a click.

  
“Yes?” said a calm voice, low and female. “Do you need help?”

  
“I need a trauma team, and right now!” Sam said sharply, wondering if her shirt would help stem the bleeding and despairing. She suspected she held onto a major artery, possibly an aorta. “I’m up to my elbows in blood, holding onto things that should never be held onto! And I’m losing him!”

  
“And where are you?” said the voice calmly, though scrambling could be heard behind her words.

  
“Doesn’t this thing have GPS?” growled Sam, keeping her head down. “San Diego mountains, east of Julian, find us! No, Morgan, don’t do that, he might have a scope.”

  
“A general location is sufficient,” said the voice. “Ah, West Coast, San Diego?”

  
“In the mountains with someone shooting at us,” agreed Sam, feeling bad things happening to Bruce Wayne under her very hand. “Hurry, he’s lost a lot of blood and he’s hardly breathing at all.”

  
“Leave this circuit open, we’ll be there in a moment,” said the voice, and Sam set the thing down and used her left hand to strip off her shirt to staunch some of the blood still welling up around her wrist.

  
“He doesn’t have a moment,” she muttered, wondering briefly who she’d been talking to. A flare of white light above them gave her some hope, but then the Batman stopped breathing. She bent to give him her own breath, but a hand fell on her shoulder, the flesh sticky with his blood, pulling her away from him.

  
“No, you must not be touching him while I work,” said the same voice as on the phone. “It will interfere in the healing. Do not fear for him, I will make him whole.”

  
As Sam reluctantly pulled her hand free, Morgan drew her back so that light fell on the Batman’s cowled face, pale and still. A scarlet cloak draped the figure who had taken Sam’s place and a tumble of wavy, reddish brown hair. Yet the figure seemed not to move, just kneeling over the still, dead form. Where was the sniper? Sam thought, anger burning in her for the death of this man, her friend. She would find the coward and deliver him to the Batman’s friends. Had the creature fled? There were no shots.

  
“Where’s the guy who shot him?” Sam asked Morgan as he held her close, gun holstered. “Did you get him?”

  
“Lethe and the Cat have him,” said the woman over the Batman’s body. “We will know everything he does when they are finished, and he will go on his way as an entirely different person. How are you feeling now, my lord?”

  
“Better,” said the Batman, his voice a whisper. “Blood loss?”

  
“Yes, you will be weak,” agreed the woman, rising to her feet, a tall, anonymous figure, who then effortlessly stooped to gather the heavy Dark Knight into her arms. “It will help to keep you from running about reopening the wound, perhaps. Much of it is spread over this young lady, I fear, and no longer available. But perhaps the fellow with her might share. I smell the same type in him, and the same genes. Are you two related?”

  
The woman turned to face them, the firelight showing her exotically beautiful, tall and slender. No mask concealed her face, no garish costume covered her body, just simple black boots, a black skin suit and the scarlet cloak. She looked like she might be a mutant, but Sam didn’t care if she was an alien, since she had kept the Batman alive.

  
“Uh, yes, ma’am,” said Morgan, politely doffing his hat. “Kinda, that is. He needs some of my blood? Can you do that?”

  
“Use mine, I’m oh negative,” Sam volunteered, her hands sticky with useless blood. “But it’s not very sterile here. If we could get to my house, we could get cleaned up, have less risk of infections. How’d you do that, anyway?”

  
“It is one of my talents,” shrugged the woman, her arms untroubled by the considerable weight of the Batman, his cloak, his blood-slippery body. “I am empath, healer, shifter, and other things. There will be no infection. But he will need a few days rest, and refuses to enter my realm, Starholme. Go you to your home, I will bring him with me. Lethe and the Black Cat will be yet a few moments with the assassin, and will let us know when they are done.”

  
“Uh, we came on horseback, ma’am,” said Morgan, still with hat in hand. Sam went off to get the horses, who looked uneasy at the smell of blood all over her. She rinsed her hands in the streamlet, then led them back to the fire that Morgan was carefully putting out. “It’ll be a while, you carryin’ him. I’ll take him with me, if you hand him up.”

  
“No, go as swiftly as you will, I will not slow you,” said the woman confidently. “I am a very powerful shifter, unlimited class, and well able to carry weight swiftly. Far faster than needed to keep up with you.”

  
“Come on, doll,” said Sam, already mounted. “She’s meta. She says she can do it, bet she can. Kept him alive, when he was sure to be dead. Heck, he looked like he was dead to me.”

  
“Not exactly,” said the woman, seeming to grow taller, stretch beneath the cape. Morgan mounted Midnight to find that the woman was now a coaly black centaur, and could keep up easily with Kiaora and his own stallion. The ride back was short, swift by moonlight, and Sam made short work of unsaddling and stabling the horses, while the transformed metahuman took the Batman into the house with Morgan. Sam promised herself to clean the tack later and went into the house. Blood stains on the leathers didn’t seem all that important at that moment.

  
Morgan was sitting next to the still form of the Batman, who lay on the scarlet cloak of the woman, draped over Sam’s couch. The woman held Morgan’s wrist to the ungloved wrist of the Dark Knight, and seemed to be concentrating. Morgan, his expression calm, waved her by, and Sam went to strip off her clothing, shower quickly and return. By the time she re-entered the living room, they were finished, Morgan looking a little light-headed, the Batman with better color to his face beneath the mask.

  
“Orange juice, cookies, don’t have donuts,” said Sam, and fetched the things from the kitchen. By then, Bruce Wayne was sitting up, to disapproving looks from the still un-named metahuman woman. “Do you want to do a transfusion with my blood, now, or can’t we do it that way? Drink the orange juice, Morgan, it’s good for you after you give blood. Cookies, too.”

  
“A moment, please,” said the woman, now back in completely human form. “May I check you for a moment? I need to gauge the compatibility. Ah, you are pregnant. No, you must not give him any of your blood except in dire circumstances. We must just do with what we have. He is safe enough, now that I have healed him, and your husband has shared blood with him. The danger with my lord the Bat is always that he pushes himself far too hard, despite warnings from those who heal him. Enforced inactivity is almost impossible for him, it is against his nature. But blood loss will keep him in some restraint, I think, at least for a time.”

  
“Can I get you anything, ma’am?” asked Sam of her extraordinary guest, now looking very much like some motorcycle enthusiast, sleek and svelte in boots and skin-suit. Sam had heard that the Catwoman had some kind of thing for the Batman, but this was surely someone else. “And my name is Sam Grey, this is Morgan Wayne, my husband.”

  
“Yaran Argon,” said the tall metahuman, seeming to be unworried about the name. “Also called Starwolf, and other names, at times. Well, Lethe and the Cat say that you, my lord, were not the target, this time. It was the pair of you, who he was to kill. Something about a gold map?”

  
“That old map?” said Morgan, surprised. “I left it with James Stockton, in New York City, and it’s just an old map, no good to anyone. ‘Sides, the gold is supposed to be cursed.”

  
“It seems that the man who hired the shooter was interested in killing you both, keeping the secret of the map to himself. Either your enemy is this Stockton, or he, too, is likely dead. Shall I pursue this enemy, my lord?”

  
“No,” said the Batman, his torn costume still reeking of blood, black stain on the grey of his skin suit. “I’m sure that the three of us can find out what’s going on, Yaran. Thank you, again, for my life. And thank Lethe and the Cat for not killing the shooter. I know that’s not the way you usually work.”

  
“Such a tender heart beneath the steel,” chuckled Yaran, whose name was tickling at Sam’s mind. “Metas are not all so savage as you believe, my lord. Often we leave folk alive whom we would prefer dead, simply because killing is wrong, most of the time. By the way, these two are as true as you yourself, my talent tells me. They will protect you for a few days. Lethe and the Cat have brought your travel gear and put it in the barn. Now, I will go, my friends, and hope that none of you soon need my help!”

  
“Uh, thank you,” said Sam, somewhat at a loss as to what one said to such a powerful being, one who had saved so important a life as Bruce Wayne’s, and casually, hers and Morgan’s, as well, it seemed. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Argon.”

  
The tall, exotic beauty seemed to glide out the door to the yard, where an ordinary looking older woman and a blurry dark shape waited. The three stood by each other, then vanished in the same white light they had come in. Sam wondered which of them had done that. She went back inside. Well, it could have been that Kryptonian guy, she thought, shrugging.

“Well, do you want to get cleaned up?” Sam asked Bruce Wayne, still sitting quietly on her scarlet draped sofa. “Some of Morgan’s stuff may fit you, and you can sleep in Brooke’s bed for a few nights, they’re at the National Horse Show until Sunday.”

  
“I might need a little help moving,” said the Dark Knight, sitting up carefully and pushing back his cowl to reveal a handsome, weary face. “But a bath would be welcome. As long as I’m careful, and don’t put stress on the injuries, they’ll hold up to washing and sleeping. The Hidden always warns you that it takes three days to ‘set’, as she calls it, and it’s true.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Oh, gods, that’s who that was,” whispered Sam, going pale. “That was The Hidden, wasn’t it? I snapped at the chief of the Hidden over the phone. And still, I’m alive, and so are you two. She really must be a good friend to you, Bruce, if we all rate surviving her.”

  
“She has a much more savage reputation than she truly deserves,” said Bruce Wayne, stripping off parts of his costume. “She’s very nice to those whose philosophy, karma, chi, approximates her own. She was certain to like you two, you have horses, treat them well, risk your lives for others, just as she does. There was never any danger that she would harm you.”

  
“Why, after I was rude, would she still let either of us live? The shooter, you said he’d live, too?” Sam had gone cold with the reaction, something being shot at didn’t do to her.

  
“She’s an empath, she can feel emotions, intentions, read souls, if you want to get metaphysical about it,” said Wayne, as Morgan helped him to his feet. Sam slid under the other arm and they supported him into her bathroom. They helped him off with the rest of the costume as the tub filled. “People who rub her the wrong way are usually bigoted, selfish, predatory types, none of which describes either of you. She tends to like heroes, brave people who risk their lives for others, crusaders for causes. Sounds like you two, doesn’t it?”

  
“Well, Morgan, anyway,” agreed Sam, frowning at how weak their guest still was. “You’ll drown in there alone. Which of us do you want to help you?”

  
“I don’t care,” said Wayne, feeling exhaustion pulling at him. “All I want to do is sleep. The adrenaline is gone, the blood pressure is low. I’m going to need sleep, very soon.”

  
“Both, then,” decided Sam, and between the two of them, they cleaned blood and dirt from Bruce Wayne’s body, dried him and put him to bed. Sam, hoping that it wouldn’t do bad things to either her washer or the costume, washed his clothes, then hung them to dry, inside. She finished her night by crawling into a warm, soft, occupied bed and snuggling up to her husband.

  
The next morning, after feeding, and with their guest still asleep, Morgan called James Stockton, using the number he had for the banker. The secretary answered immediately, but sounded both frantic and harassed.

  
“I’m sorry, sir,” the young woman told Morgan. “Mr. Stockton has been missing for three days, now. There’s been no word from him, no ransom demands, no signs of irregularities. Of course, an audit is being done now, to make certain there has been no embezzlement, no financial compromise to the accounts, the funds.”

  
“I’m more interested in whether or not there were any suspicious circumstances,” Morgan told her. “Was there anything missing or out of place in his office?”

  
“An empty folder open on the desk,” said the girl finally, after thinking, probably the first time she’d had a moment to herself for days. “Nothing else at all. His wife was away at a convention, and their children are grown. His car is still in the garage of his house, no luggage seems missing, he just seems to have vanished.”

  
Morgan assured the girl that he was unworried for his own sake, and extracted a promise to call him, should she think of anything else. “Like CSI,” he told her with a grin, making her laugh.

  
“Well, Stockton’s gone, Sam,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “Don’t seem like he planned it. More likely he told someone a tall story about the gold and the map, and that someone decided to find the gold, with or without Stockton’s help. We can either go to New York and poke around a cold trail, or head for the gold ourselves and maybe beat the jasper to it. Only reason for Stockton to still be alive, though, is if he’s thrown in with ‘em. Or is pretending to, leastwise. Also, he may have planned it much better than most and is our suspect, since he’s had half that map for a lot longer than I have. He may have had this in mind for years, or someone else before him, too.”

  
“Well, we can’t leave Bruce Wayne here alone, and someone needs to be here for the horses,” said Sam thoughtfully. “Guess I’ve got a couple days to find someone who’ll take care of the place for a few days. I better start calling around. Why don’t you go look in on Bruce, doll? See if he’s awake, ready for breakfast.”

  
The two men spent the day relaxing on the porch, talking quietly, while Sam worked the horses. When she’d gone so far as teaching two of the retired polo horses to sit on command, they realized that she was entertaining them. She had one particularly bright horse, an older quarter gelding, who would do many different tricks to get his cookie, including sticking his tongue out and flapping it, clapping his lips together, nodding, shaking hands, bowing and rearing. Whatever the old sorrel did, Kumara copied, unwilling to let her human think the other more clever than she. This was actually more fun to watch than the original trick, much of the time.

  
Sam did the cooking, allowing Bruce Wayne to relax with Morgan, and generally played obedient domestic goddess. The outlaw confided to his guest that it was not their usual arrangement, but that he would make up for it later. That evening, in the darkness, a helicopter landed, loaded Bruce Wayne, his costume and his powered flying wing and left. Sam called around the county and found an old friend willing to ranch sit for a few days, and on Saturday she and Morgan went to the horse show, an eclectic affair, which some dressed up for, and some came straight from their horses and barns.

  
Brooke managed a respectable seventh place in the Grand Prix, ridden before a packed stadium, and against national level riders. Morgan was very impressed by the skills of horse and riders, the giant fences a challenge by anyone’s standards. By one in the morning, tired but triumphant, they were all home. Morgan explained what had happened to Hawk, and they planned their expedition carefully. The large, six horse trailer, Midnight, Grey, Kumara and Trooper, their gear and camping equipment, loaded before noon.

  
Sam’s friend Barbara showed up on time, was given instructions, and left in charge, an older woman who loved horses and could not afford her own. The promise of doing so much riding and caring for horses made her very happy, and she was ready for the four to leave that afternoon.

  
Sam drove, at first, steadily toward the Grand Canyon, tired, but alert, Morgan, Hawk and Brooke dozed in the big cab, trusting her and having had very little sleep. They stopped briefly in Yuma, then drove through Tucson and up to Kingman, switching drivers between Brooke and Sam. After that, with dawn just lightening the horizon, Morgan and Hawk became guides, sitting shotgun with maps and eagle eyes, sussing out what road and town would get them closer to their goal. After hours of false hopes, they finally found a promontory that gave the two out of time a familiar feel, and with some relief, set up camp in some trees.


	21. Chapter 21

“If our treasure hunters are here already, me and Hawk’ll find ‘em,” Morgan told Sam, after staking out the horses near the trailer. They had found a place that would conceal the truck and camp fairly well, aided by a camo net spread between some trees. To passing hikers or anyone on the dirt road, they were practically invisible, something Morgan and Hawk were quite firm on, after the sniper incident. While one hired assassin was gone, others might still be around.

  
“Is this the kind of thing you used to do all the time?” asked Brook, putting out alfalfa flakes for the horses. As most of the supplies they expected to need were in the trailer or truck, they had brought only Kiaora, Trooper, Midnight and Grey.

  
“Lot of the time, yes,” nodded Morgan, arranging brush to conceal their fire while Hawk erased much of their trail. They were not in a designated camp area, but they had paid the fees at the entrance of the park. “Bad men seldom hung out signs for us or the law to find, and while those little four wheel things might be faster, they’re loud. I think the people we’re looking for will be doing things quiet and cautious. The canyon that that tribe lived in was off the main river, so once they’re off the rim, they can do what digging they like, and not be seen. Horses will be more use than machines to find where they are, but once we know, we’ll need to leave them. That canyon is no place for horses, and that particular area was slippery talus in my day. What it is now, I don’t know.”

  
“Armed, probably, digging, likely, and we don’t know who or how many,” sighed Sam, setting up rocks so that there would be little firelight visible from afar. Night was nearly here, and it was too bad they were here on such serious business, as the scenery was magnificent. “And if I had to guess, disguised as an archeology or botany team. Maybe even with papers or permits. I mean, they might have been planning this for a very long time. They had lots of time to think about the map, figure out where it was, what to do. Did anyone know what kind of map it was way back when you tore it in half?”

  
“No, I just needed a piece of paper or something to divide for identification, that just happened to be convenient,” Morgan told her, setting a folding chair near the fire and then the cooler. “I don’t really know why I kept it, I never intended to do anything about the gold. Maybe tell someone about it later, for some museum or something. I figured by this time, maybe someone would have a safe way of getting it out, not taking the whole canyon rim down any further.”

  
“You had that little adventure between your first time slip and getting back, then?” asked Brook, taking out the other chairs and setting them up, then getting out the grill to place across the rocks Sam had set on end. Morgan was making a carefully small fire, watching for sparks and any danger. He had seen the news about a forest fire in Arizona and wanted no repeat of someone’s terrible error.

  
“Yep, and I seemed to recall Sam sayin’ something about Aztecs bein’ mascots for some college she went to, so I drew a map while I was doing my writing for the bio,” he said, laying carefully chosen sticks in the firepit. A small, even fire to cook on, not for visibility or warmth, they had all agreed. Morgan and Hawk both thought they had all the warm clothes they could need, and modern sleeping bags were luxurious indeed, especially as each one came with a warm partner, a softening pad and a camouflaged tent. So much better than their previous trail camps, they told each other rather smugly.

  
“Yeah, San Diego State Aztecs,” agreed Sam, pulling out four marinated steaks from a foil wrapped package in the cooler. “The archeology department would have been very happy to have some kind of school expedition or something, maybe with the Park Service pros or maybe even some of the local schools. The Navajo might be interested, too, what with the tribe that went down with them, if they were related. Did you get any sense of what language family it was, Hawk?”

  
“None like Navajo or Apache,” said Blue Hawk, having padded silently into camp from the direction of the road. “It was not as if they were doing much talking. They were trying to kill us, not negotiate.”

  
“Hmm, Anasazi, maybe? A remnant population, like some of the places in the Alps or the Himalayas, isolated from larger migration patterns. Sorry, my anthropology degree is showing, isn’t it?”

  
“If you want to lecture while you cook, far be it from me to stop you,” chuckled Morgan, getting out some of the drinks from the cooler. There were several coolers in the trailer, in a locked area that would protect from opportunistic wild life, and serve as a stash for other gear besides their saddles and bridles. Sam had a special locked container for guns and other weapons, too.

  
Sam spent much of dinner on an overview of the phases of human occupation around the Grand Canyon and Southwest areas, and during the cleanup after, Brook gave a few opinions on the current state of Indian affairs in the area, especially the Navajo and Hopi reservations and connections to the Park system. Once they had everything cleaned up and put away, they walked out to the rim several hundred yards away and listened.

  
In the silence of the Canyon before them, they tuned out the horses, moving and eating behind them, the sounds of each other spread several yards apart, the various natural sounds like susurrating trees, night birds, wind moans, and tried to hear anything out of place. As their eyes adapted to the night, Hawk and Morgan also looked for signs of lights, fires, other camps. The moonless night let any light be greater than after moonrise, and with their backs to the road and the far habitations of modern man, several places were noticeably lit. Morgan and Hawk both made careful note of the directions and apparent distances, standing there until they were sure that they had actually seen light, not reflected starshine or water from some spring. By that time, Brook was visibly shivering, and if Sam wasn’t, her hands were like ice when Morgan took one.

  
Their success in concealing their own camp was made obvious when they had to find it by the sounds of the horses, pleasing Morgan and Hawk quite a bit. Nowhere nearly as pleased as when they slept that night, each with a willing, warm woman with them. Too tired to actually do more than cuddle, it was still the best camp out Sam could ever remember.

  
The next morning, before the sun rose, the two men had saddled their horses and ghosted out of camp at false dawn, heading toward the faint lights they had seen the night before. Each had radios, weapons, some trail food and water, maps and a feral caution. Who might be watching for Sam and Morgan, might not be watching for two men riding along a rim, but years of being hunted, and hunting others in return, served them well. They found their prey after only a day of searching, and scouted the little base camp carefully.Having seen some of what modern electronics could do, they did not actually get close to the three concealed vehicles, pulled into tree sheltered areas as they had. They simply rode innocently by as if sightseeing, noting the trail head that started down the canyon slope as they passed by. Some little way past they stopped their horses by the canyon rim and used their new phone cameras to take detailed pictures as if they were tourists, making sure to take ‘selfies’, or act like they had.

  
After riding on some distance, they rode away from the rim to the deeper brush and forest and returned unerringly to their camp.

  
Using a laptop to connect the phones, Sam and Brooke made use of the computer’s ability to focus on details from their pictures. It was easily seen to be the same area as the two men remembered from long ago, although much settled from the landslide. A small group of men were seen on the stabilized slope with what looked like long poles.

  
“They’re poking down into the ground looking for structures or objects” Sam explained, and zoomed in a little more. “And that guy looks like he has a sonic rig, maybe a metal detector?”

  
“And that little pile of stuff right there is guns,” said Morgan with certainty. “Rifles, for sure, and close to hand. Doubt we can get near them without being seen, and they’ve already tried to kill Sam, or hired it done. Certainly no place for horses, all that stuff is slippery as hell for hooves. Any idea who might legitimately come across people in that situation, Sam? Sheriff, Ranger, lawman or something?” 

  
“Eco tourists,” said Brooke, scrutinizing the pictures, something about one of the men looking familiar. “Does this guy look like someone we know, Sam? This one, here with the hat.”

  
“Don’t look much like that Stockton jasper,” commented Morgan, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “What’s an ecotourist?”

  
“Eco tourists are people who like to go see stuff in nature, rather than, say cities or attractions,” said Sam, looking as closely as possible with her laptop zoom at the man. “Hmm, maybe. That hat shades his face too much. Might be a good idea to look less like us, Brooke, and a little more, eh, hippie?”

  
“Dunno how much that will help with guys who want to kill us for knowing about the map and the gold,” said Morgan thoughtfully. “Or hired it done, anyhow. But this is the approach I’d use, if you want to come along all innocent and harmless looking. See this goat track, here? Hawk spotted it and it seems to go pretty much right to ‘em. Come around this bend here, by the big outcrop, then less cover, but right along this slope.”

  
“Okay, say we come along all innocent and touristy,” mused Sam thoughtfully, seeing the path. “Around this boulder here, take pictures every now and then, like tourists, stop and look at plants or animals, birds, whatever. We might get close enough to get better pictures, anyway. None look like Stockton, though. Wonder if he’s in the camp? Or do you suppose they killed him?”

  
“I think our first theory is right,” Morgan said, looking significantly at Sam. He and Bruce Wayne had talked a lot the little time they had together. The recuperating detective had analyzed the situation almost easily. The bits of information had not challenged the man who ‘ruled Gotham’s night,’ and he had outlined a conspiracy to the retired outlaw.

  
“In Gotham, conspiracies aren’t theories,” he had said to Morgan, “they’re facts. Trust me. This is a conspiracy.”

  
“I think these jaspers have had this plan in motion for some time. Years for certain. Remember in the office when Stockton told us that managers of the trust have made a good bit of lucre doing the same as the trust instructions said? I bet they knew where this was going to be all along, but I was the one with the half that had the site on it. And your name was in those instructions, so they’ve probably kept an eye on you, Sam. Previous managers of the trust could have made sure who got to administer the thing, keep an eye on things, on you. It’s why they knew how to find you, how to send someone to do it. Heck, how to find someone to do it. Cal told me hired killers are harder to find, these days.”

  
“Well, then, we really do have to look different, if they know who to look for,” said Sam, thoughtfully. “Brooke, we got anything in the truck or trailer that can look like long camera lenses, a tripod? And you’ll likely have to ditch the Stetson, doll.We gotta look like this.”

  
The image on the screen changed to that of a hiking birder, then a small group of older people in shorts and hiking gear, long lenses trained on an unseen object. They wore shorts, hiking shoes, back packs and carried hiking sticks. Cameras hung around their necks and bandanas were on everyone.

  
“We can do that,” said Brooke, thinking about it. “Daypacks, at least, might need a bit of makeup on you, maybe me. Hawk and Morgan, probably easy, just with packs and cameras. Me and you, we been here longer, and they probably know us by sight. I can look older and heavier, so can you, and the padding will make it easier to conceal weapons. Also make slow progress believable. Gonna take some prep work. Come on.”


	22. Chapter 22

The next day, about ten, a small group of hikers started to be seen working their way along the canyonside. They were slow, stopped often, took many pictures, and seemed somewhat older than the usual twenty somethings that hiked the Grand Canyon. They made no effort to hide or conceal themselves, crawling along the contours of the talus slopes, not going far up or down slope, following a faint track that might have been made by the Canyon’s famous burros. At noon, in full view of the diggers, they halted and had a small lunch on the smooth outcrop of sandstone that gave them a panoramic view of the area. One of the women, shading hat over her phone, made a slow turn, one of the men steadying her, all the way around, before sitting down and eating something. They were the least suspicious bunch ever, wearing colorful shirts and bright bandanas, cameras in hand constantly.

  
“What does it look like they’re doing, Hawk?” said Sam quietly, pretending to use binoculars on the circling predatory bird above them. The binos revealed it to be a golden eagle, something a birder would surely focus on and share with friends. Hawk had taken a seat with most of the group between him and their targets, carefully watching them from obscurity. Sam nudged Morgan and handed him the binoculars and pointed up at the eagle, obvious to any who watched. She now had frizzy grey hair and drawn on wrinkles, as well as a bumpy nose. Brook had almost white hair, with a visor of brilliant blue shading more wrinkles.

  
“They watch us closely, Senorita,” reported the keen eyed Yaqui. “No one has guns in hand yet. They talk, point at us. When we start walking again, the last good cover will be that stone over there, then we will be exposed to anyone with guns.”

  
“Okay, everyone got the plan straight?” she said, checking her phone, and having, of course, no service. Each of them had satellite phones, though, with several pre programmed numbers. They also wore bullet resistant vests beneath their long sleeved shirts and had two broken down rifles in packs the men carried. “I get to the big rock and yell snake, back away and do the whole “we’re done here” routine, we obviously scope out a trail up, and make toward it. If we get closer, go over to say hi, if they don’t buy it, that rock is a pretty big piece of cover. As they already hired a shooter, I’m guessing they figure this is a good place to lose a few bodies.”

  
“We should stop behind the rock and shoot them ourselves,” sighed Blue Hawk, having already argued that plan and lost. “It _is_ a good place to lose a few bodies.”

  
“We gotta give ‘em a chance to be reasonable,” said Morgan, shaking his head, while carefully putting their lunch leavings in his backpack. “If not, well, after a few hours it’ll be dark, and then things will be different. Blue Hawk could sneak up on a puma, and by dawn the place should be crawling with park rangers.”

  
“And I have an ace in the hole in case of problems,” added Sam. ”A really big, kinda overkill kinda ace in the hole. Remember those guys that came by the house a few years back, Brooke? The ones with the helicopter?”

  
“Easier, safer and a whole lot quieter to just shoot them ourselves,” said Brooke, rolling her eyes. “But, yeah, that’s an ace in the hole alright. Everyone done? Ready? Showtime!”

  
Slowly they made their way toward the big boulder outcrop, and as they were passing by, Sam last, she shrieked and leapt into the little group and caused a visible commotion to any watchers. With all the others between her and the outcrop, her back to the little group digging, she waited until one of the men had made poking motions with his stick at the base of the big out thrust. Sam pointed emphatically upward toward the rim and stood with her hands on her hips. The others made calming motions and soothed her with nonsense words, in case the sound should carry. Brooke got out her binos and started scanning the rim for a trail up.

  
Sam didn’t feel the bullet until she hit the ground, and heard it even later. Still playing their parts, the others looked around in confusion and knelt next to her. Another bullet spanged off the boulder throwing chips of stone around. Sam lay still, finding out what was hit, and noting some kind of pain in the left shoulder.

  
“Drag me, Morgan,” she told him, as he crouched by her. “Like you’re panicked. Everyone behind the rocks. I’m hit, but in the arm. I’ll be fine, but let them think I’m dead.”

  
Soon, behind the rock, protected by the overhang and the upthrust of red sandstone, the four took stock of their assailants and of Sam’s injury. A clean hole through her muscle in the upper arm, bleeding horribly, but not, in Sam’s opinion, serious. Hawk and Morgan put their own long guns together swiftly as Brooke doctored the injury with betadine, gauze and vet wrap. A quick glance at the men who had shot at them showed five men, each with rifles, and a low ridge to cover them from this angle that had not been evident before.

  
“Hmm, that’s a bit on the edge of our range, but let’s see if we can put those sidewinders back a bit, Hawk,” said Morgan, checking over his now ready rifle. It was not the one he had used in the old days, but a nice, new, sighted in Remington with a scope. Hawk had one as well, and between them, they had no doubt they could hit their targets, within reason. Still, they were quite a ways from the men who had the map. They had been constrained by needing to take the guns apart for concealment, and if Hawk had had his Sharp, the men would likely have been dead by now.

  
“Okay, time to try the cellphones,” said Sam, timing it in her head. “Oh, no service, such a surprise. Now we try to figure out what to do, if I’m still alive, that is. Oh, oh, what a terrible thing. Any movement, guys?”

  
“One jasper seems to be coming over to see what we’re doing,” said Morgan, as Hawk lined up on the man, ready to shoot. “How you doing, Sam?”

  
“That isn’t going to kill me,” snorted the girl, sweating from the shock of the injury and drinking water on the sunny side of the boulder. “Make me really sore, yeah, probably weaker than normal, but not kill me. You figure that guy is gonna come check on us little wimpy old tourists?”

  
“He comes with gun in hand, Senorita,” grunted Hawk. “I doubt it is to talk.”

  
Sam wiggled awkwardly around to peer through the gap between some rocks at the man approaching. Her eyes widened.

  
“Brooke, you were right, we _do_ know that guy. That’s Alexander Levin, isn’t it? That guy we used to play against in the Del Mar League. Why that rotten little skunk, he was keeping an eye on me for these guys for years, I bet. Used to say he was a retired money manager, and I guess the money he managed was yours, hon.”

  
“So, kill him or not, Senorita?” asked Hawk, casually, never having waivered with his rifle. “He does not look very nice, I think.”

  
“Bad tempered, mean to his horses, rude to his grooms, all together horrid person,” noted Brooke, who had been to several games Sam had played in. “I vote dead.”

  
“Yeah, just on account of that one horse he killed,” agreed Sam, finding her arm not working at all now. The blood was not stopping. Uh oh.

  
“Oh, that was him?” said Brooke. “Yeah, Hawk, he should die for that. Rode that poor pony to death.”

  
“Well, he’s out in the open, so let me take a shot at one of the others, then Hawk can take this guy. We shoot him first, with the others watching, we won’t get any of them.”

  
“Okay,” said Sam, faintly, fishing for the sat phone. “Hope Caitlin is ready to pick up the phone.”

  
“What?” said Brooke, as Morgan fired, a flat crack that was shortly followed by the deeper shot from Hawk’s rifle. “Sam, you don’t look so good. Oh, man, the bleeding isn’t stopping, is it? What are you doing, calling for air evac? Those guys will shoot the hell out of things.”

  
“Hey, Caitlin? Yeah, it’s me. Things are pretty much what I figured, except I seem to have got a little shot. No, but it’s bleeding pretty good. Could you and String manage a little flyby in a few hours? I know you guys are canyon running fools, and this place qualifies. Please no heavy ordnance, the horses are up on the rim.”

  
“What? no, got shot at first, we’re all behind cover, down in the canyon. The boys just took a couple shots. How’d it go, hon?”

  
“Got the one guy, winged mine,” grunted Morgan, seeing Sam going pale with some alarm. He took the sat phone from her hand and said, “Hello?”

  
“This is Caitlin, who’s this?” asked a somewhat Texan sounding female voice. “What’s going on with Sam?”

  
“This is Morgan,” the outlaw told her, handing his rifle to Brooke, who took up his position and sighted in on a head. “She got shot in the upper arm, left one, we bandaged it up, but it’s still bleeding. I don’t know how much pressure I can apply here. Don’t fly near here, the bastards shoot at anything.”

  
“Oh, I don’t think that will bother us, Morgan,” said Caitlin with a smile in her voice. “Tell Sam we’ll be there in about ten minutes. How many need evac, just her?”

  
“She’s the only one hurt,” agreed Morgan, looking around. “How you figure ten minutes, ma’am? I don’t see another soul around and I thought them helicopters was loud.”

  
“Oh, you’ll hear us,” Caitlin told him, and he heard mechanical sounds behind her. “Light the fires, String.”

  
Brooke took a shot at the men and got a hat, but not the head in it. Hawk took a shot at the foot of the man he had killed. The body didn’t move except for the place the bullet hit. He was well expired, anyway. He targeted the dirt of the ridge the men hid behind, wishing for the more powerful Sharp buffalo gun.

  
“Sam, you hang on now,” Morgan told her, giving her water and wrapping a bandanna around her arm above the wound. He tightened it. “Your friend said ten minutes, but I don’t hear anything. How fast do helicopters go?”

  
“Listen for the howl of the wolf,” she mumbled, smiling around the water, “At first it only sounds like wind, but it’s not.”

  
“What, a machine that sounds like a wolf?” said Hawk, taking another shot, then he paused. “Ah, yes, like that. I think I hear it. The one helicopter at the airport did not sound like that. That sound is fierce.”

  
“So are Caitlin and her people,” said Sam, blinking in the sunlight. She could hear it now, too. “I gave Caitlin my sat number, so she’ll know where we are. And where the bad guys are, too.”

  
Morgan and Hawk saw a flicker of shadow on the canyon walls, then beside the very edge of the dig site, a monstrous helicopter rose in near silence, with stubby wings and a jet black paint job, the belly white, as if it were a killer whale, rising from the sea.

  
“Put your guns down and surrender,” said a thunderous voice, magnified by the canyon walls as much as the sound system. The machine hovered without moving the slightest in any way, as if the hand that flew it was the hand of God. Wind blew around some of the diggers equipment, but they turned their guns and fired on the helicopter. Hawk and Brooke took their chance to take shots, but missed, probably due to the range and the turbulent air. The helicopter, apparently unbothered by the hail of gunfire, responded.

  
A pair of stubby wings shot out and exposed what looked like small Gatling guns to Morgan. Almost instantly, the guns spat flame and bullets, the helicopter now moving gently. It was apparent that the guns were fixed, aimed by the pilot, and well aimed. When the guns went silent, the other four men were silent, unmoving. The helicopter whispered closer from the rim and made a short pass over the site, then moved to the most level piece of ground between them.

  
“Got room for two, Flagstaff Medical Center is expecting us,” said the voice of the helicopter. Two wheels sat on the dirt, the other in air, but it was steady as if it were set there with bolts. Morgan wasted no time in picking up Sam and scrambling toward the deadly machine. It scared him that she said nothing, did not even protest. A door like that on a car opened and he slid her in on the seat and climbed in carefully after, pulling the door shut behind him. He felt pressure, as if on an airplane, making sure Sam was mostly in the seat.

  
He glanced up at the front of the cabin space and saw nothing but two featureless helmets on two people flying the elegant death machine. A glance out the window beyond them was nothing but blue and brown blurs. The entire front of the machine was filled with switches, gauges, dials and readouts, meaning nothing to Morgan, but the speed was gratifying.

  
“Thanks, folks. Those sidewinders had us pinned and she’s bleeding pretty bad. Bullet resistant vests are fine, but they don’t cover arms,” Morgan said, unbuttoning the shirt Sam wore to expose the vest.

  
“Can you get the vest off and both of you unarmed before you get off at the hospital?” said that female voice he’d heard as Caitlin. “Medical guys get suspicious if you got combat stuff on when you show up at the emergency room. Just leave it on the seat, or the floor, no one’s getting in here to find it.”

  
“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Morgan, doing his best to strip Sam of weapons and armor. It was mostly the belt, vest and boot knife, due to their disguises. He shed his own vest and guns as they were landing on the designated helipad near the emergency room, a pair of orderlies and a gurney running toward them. Morgan slid out the door and pulled Sam out after him with the blood still running down her arm. No one even looked at the helicopter as she was rushed into the hospital with Morgan trailing behind. In moments, the black helicopter was gone, as if it had never been there.

  
Morgan and Sam were run through the medical wringer, a process liberally greased by Morgan’s credit card and his denial of any knowledge of her insurance status. He finally just asked how much it was to buy the hospital, and after that, things went much more smoothly. Surgery was quick, and he was assured she was going to be fine, just a bit tired and somewhat sore. He had plenty of chances to go over his story with the nurses and doctors as she was being worked on.

  
“Hiking along part of the Canyon,” he shrugged, “going along all happy and interested. Takin’ pictures, looking at birds, had lunch, come around a bend in the trail and someone starts shooting at us. I got some experience with that kind of thing, and Sam going down kinda spooks me back into action, you know? Man, gonna have nightmares tonight, for sure. Got back behind a big rock, and figured we were in big trouble. I mean, no radio, no cell service, no back up, no airstrikes, you know?”

  
At that point there were nods from more than a few around the area. PTSD, veteran issues were well known in the Four Corners area.

  
“Then this big black helicopter, dunno who it was, blows by and stops and asks if we need help, and flies us here. Never saw a face, didn’t notice a reg number, nothin’. Like a deus ex machina from heaven, emphasis on the machina part. Wonder if they’re, hmm, SHIELD or something like? Got no way to even tell em thanks. Feel kinda bad about all the blood we left all over the back seat.”

  
“Those guys have been here before,” said one of the older nurses. “No one knows who they are, but they bring someone in now and then from the Rez or the border, usually. We don’t ask, not our job, you know, but there’s rumors, and one of the Navajo policemen, Chee, he calls it the Crying Thunderbird. I heard another name from a vet who was in Afghanistan. They call it the Flying Wolf. If you ask around, word is it is _seriously_ armed. Probably secret government stuff. That doesn’t explain all the rescuing and hospital runs, though. The government has its own people for that, and probably wouldn't go around rescuing tourists and border agents, anyway.”

  
“And is it common to be shot at while hiking around here?” asked Morgan, as if curious. “I mean, doesn’t seem like there’d be much tourism, if it is. Why would anyone shoot at four folks more interested in birds than what other folks are doing? What would make anyone think it more reasonable to kill us than wave at us in passing?”

  
“Illegal mining, meth lab, growing cannabis, drug use or drop, pot hunters, lots of things,” shrugged the shorter nurse, who looked Navajo. “Lots of stuff. Grand Canyon has tons of finger canyons, arroyos, unexplored, never visited. You happen on one with some bad guys in it, they try to kill you. A bit extreme, but all they gotta do is drop you to the bottom and forget you, no telling if you ever get found.”


	23. Chapter 23

Meantime, Brooke and Hawke had gathered up their things, and cautiously approached the dig site. The first dead man, Levin, was unceremoniously shoved off the cliff edge after a quick pat down. When they reached the others, torn to shreds by the war machine, Brooke searched them briefly for car keys and other things, including the map, and dumped them off the edge. She then took a brief look at the site itself. Though not versed in archaeology as Sam was, she saw that there had not yet been any real disturbance of the site, no actual digging. She figured to take the vehicles to a road and leave them, after making sure Stockton wasn’t in one of them. The tools they dragged up the hill to the rim behind them, the bodies and guns went off the side to the ravine below.

  
At the top of the slope, on the rim, they took a breather, and Brooke filled Hawk in on their rescuer. Having only seen a few helicopters, Hawk had no idea just how extraordinary that one had been. Brooke had an idea, but she had never been in it, or seen it in action before, only heard one story from Sam. But that story had involved pretty much blowing up a mountain, so, impressive.

  
“It’s called Airwolf,” she explained, “but you can’t call it that, cause people, secret, scary government spy people are looking for it. Caitlin and her friends Hawke and Santini stole it from some government agency to get them to find String’s brother, but they use it for the agency, I dunno which one, sometimes. Sam and Caitlin know each other from police training at some retreat or convention or something, and she helped Caitlin hide String and his chopper from someone once. Anyway, thing’s got missiles, tank killers, guns, rockets, way more firepower than anything that size ought to have, and is super fast and bullet proof. It coulda just sat there between us and those guys until they ran out of bullets, if String wanted to. But he doesn’t like to waste time or words. Kinda repressed, but Caitlin is working on him.”

  
“It was much sleeker than the one helicopter I saw at the airport,” said Hawk thoughtfully, picking up most of the tools easily. His hand was never far from his knife, though, as they approached the three vehicles in the trees. “It is well that the Senorita is such a friendly person, that she knows so many helpful people. Those people, whoever they are, seemed particularly useful.”

  
“Can be,” agreed Brooke as they came to the tree shaded camp. No sound was evident, nor anything but a little wind movement. Two SUVs and a small camper were parked in a sort of semi circular way, a couple tents completed the circle and were camo patterned, seeming to be innocent and unoccupied. Brooke and Hawk laid down their burdens and ghosted quietly around looking in windows. The plan was to pack everything up and take the vehicles to the nearest road, leave them, hopefully without evidence of Brooke or Hawk, and go back to their own camp, with the horses, who were a few miles further east along the rim.

  
Brooke fished through the keys until she found one that fit the camper door, and opened it, meaning to put in the tools they had hauled up from the site.

  
“We aren’t likely to find Stockton, I think,” she told Hawk over her shoulder. “This much blood is no accident. Probably left him along the road through the Navajo Reservation, if I had to guess. Wipe down the tools to get fingerprints off and toss ‘em in here, Hawk. We’ll just pile everything in here and I’ll drive it out and dump it. You find the horses and meet me, and we’ll do the others, too.”

  
“Don’t forget to wipe the keys and check for a dash cam,” reminded Hawk, having watched CSI and other cop shows with great attention. “I do not think the tents will take prints, but I will be careful.”

  
It took about an hour, but they packed every scrap of camp and equipment up, and Brooke headed out to dump the camper on the side of the nearest road. Hawk took up a ground eating lope toward the horses. By the time Brooke was back, all four horses were at the campsite, slowly walking around the ground where there had once been tents. Hawk tied Midnight and Kumara to trees and followed her out in the first SUV, they rode back, then did it one last time.

  
“Okay, let’s ride around a bit on the last place and then head back to our camp,” said Brooke, satisfied there was little left to say anyone had done anything with vehicles at the little clearing. Horses, yes, there was evidence of that, but no one would see evidence of the financial conspiracy men.

  
“We should try to find out what happened to the Senorita,” suggested Hawk, having packed all their own stuff on Midnight, his rein around his saddle horn. “Surely they have come to a hospital by now.”

  
“Should have signal as soon as we’re in range of the booster on the trailer,” agreed Brooke. “But the both of them left their cellphones, and the sats, too. Might have a call from ‘em waiting for us, but it won’t be from one of their phones. Probably have to use a hospital phone. I don’t want to call Caitlin up for that.”

  
“Could we call the hospital from here?” asked Hawk, as they rode through the growing dusk. A coyote howled not far away, a feral cousin to the terrifying air beast they had seen in action. “Flagstaff Medical Center, the pilot said, I think.”

  
“If no one has left a message,” agreed Brooke, not terribly worried about her friend. She’d been in worse shape than that, and come out fighting. A stockbroker with a gun wasn’t going to put her roommate down. “Let me switch on the sat link and we should have some kind of access to the net, at least.”

  
Both their phones made vibrations in their hands, as they halted the horses behind the camo net. Brooke didn’t get off of Trooper to take the call. It was a text from Caitlin saying someone would be watching out for their friends at the hospital, and that early reports were good. The next text was from Morgan, terse, but essentially the same message. Pack up and leave the area, Sam was going to be fine. Also a phone number to call for further details, and a room number.

  
“Hello?” said Brooke, when she called it, just off of Trooper’s back. Hawk shook his head and took care of the horses, more comfortable with these chores than modern devices. “Who’s this?”

  
“Morgan, Miss Brooke,” answered the retired outlaw, speaking quietly. “Everything taken care of at your end, then? Sam should be awake pretty soon, according to the medical jaspers here. Stitched up a big hole and pumped her up with some stuff that didn’t really look like blood, but her color is lots better. You end up with our phones, or did they stay with our ride?”

  
“Everything’s good here, we got all but one of the sat phones,” Brooke told him. “Shall we pack up and head up to Flagstaff tonight, or just go home and you guys fly back?”

  
“Ain’t no place round here to keep the horses,” said that drawl at the other end of the line. “Might as well go back home, and we’ll get there somehow. Not gonna be as impressive as our entrance here, for certain.”

  
“Well, if you get another phone, call us with the number,” decided Brooke. “We’ll go back tomorrow morning, and probably stop someplace like Vegas or Reno for a night, since Hawk isn’t qualified for the big rig yet.”

  
“Yeah, I might be able to delay Sam a bit, but I can’t say for sure,” agreed Morgan. “I don’t drive legal yet, so probably fly home from here. Doubt she’s gonna feel like driving with that arm for a bit, so we probably won’t try to meet up with yuh. Flagstaff seems like a nice place, so we don’t need to hurry. What’ll we tell the little gal at the bank, do ya think?”

  
“Can’t really tell her what happened,” sighed Brooke. “I wonder why they killed him? And what’s going to happen to her?”

  
“Hey, I think Sam’s wakin’ up, Miss Brooke,” Morgan said, suddenly alert. “Call us again tomorrow morning, or we’ll call you.”

  
“Kay, bye,” said Brooke, only then noticing that Hawk had dinner half made, the horses fed and tended and their fire carefully contained. Matters were quite entertaining all that night for the two of them, and they got up very late.

At the hospital, Sam and Morgan were discussing the logistics of getting home when a tall, dark woman all in white, walked in and shut the door of the private room. At first thinking her a doctor, they turned to her expectantly, only to notice no name tag and a very stylish set of heels.

  
“My name is Marella,” she told them. “And I’m here to debrief you about this little escapade. We will not be interrupted, and this device will not allow recording. Would you like to tell me who you are?”

  
“Ah, are you a friend of Caitlin’s?” asked Sam, thoughtfully. The cheerful redhead had mentioned a penchant for white outfits by their sometime employer. “I’m sure it doesn’t rate a debriefing, just getting shot.”

  
“I work for a man who sometimes has work for Caitlin and String,” said the tall woman, smiling faintly. “He would like to know what made you a priority for them, and if it means, ah, competition for their services.”

  
“Ah, you mean you work for a big boss who wants to know why they got saddled up to pull us out of a pickle,” nodded Morgan. “Sam knows Caitlin, and she knows how sideways something can go with that much money involved. Insurance, mostly.”

  
“Money?” repeated Marella, setting down the small device she held on the bedside table. “What kind of money are we talking about?”

  
“Dunno, what’s gold go for these days, Sam?” asked Morgan, trying to remember the gold he’d seen the one time. “Anyway, a bunch of it, said to be Aztec loot from the Conquest. Cursed, of course, and buried with a whole tribe of Indians, so the story goes. The story I heard was a couple mule loads worth.”

  
“Five hundred an ounce, last I checked,” said Sam, thinking about it. “But it fluctuates with the market. Couple hundred pounds, you think? Enough to send a bunch of idiot bankers on a digging expedition. Bunch of pot-hunters, no respect for history or archaeology, just dig up the goodies and run off with ‘em.”

  
“Could you please start at the beginning?” requested Marella, taking a seat and pulling out a notepad and pen. “This sounds like a very interesting story and well worth the debrief. Also, I did promise Miss O'Shannessy to make sure you were taken care of. A gold hunting treasure hunter shot you then?”

  
“Hmm, well, it all started when I got this piece of paper from my great grandfather’s will,” said Morgan, having had a few chances to hone the story before this. “It was to be taken to a bank in New York and presented to a man who had the other half of a map, in exchange for the title to some assets the old man had left over a hundred years ago. I did that, and the bank hauled off and told me it was worth billions of dollars. Well, long as I had money in hand, like that, who needs a map to imaginary hoodoo gold? But the banker, Stockton, asked me and I told him, family legend has it that the map led to Aztec gold, a curse and a buried tribe of Indians. Didn’t think a thing about it after that, not until we called Stockton and his secretary told us he was missing.”

  
“Your great grandfather was part of this gold burying tribe?” asked Marella, trying to figure out the story. “How did he know about it?”

  
“I didn’t have details, he died before I was born,” shrugged Morgan, pretending to think hard. “I think there was some kind of fight with the Indians and some cowboys or miners, and some dynamite and a landslide. Anyhow, we figured we’d come out here and see if we could find Mr. Stockton. I have a pretty good memory, and now I have lots of money, so we made a little trip out here and started hiking in the area. Saw some folks digging or on a slope, anyway, and next thing we know, Sam’s shot and bleeding out. Pretty sure it was those diggers as shot her. We hid behind a rock and Sam called Caitlin. Sounded like she’d talked to her before, expected trouble, I guess.”

  
“I like to plan for emergencies,” said Sam, looking out of place in the white hospital bed with her ruddy complexion. That face belonged in the open, outside, not in a sterile room with fluorescent lights. “Told you it was overkill, didn’t I, doll?”

  
“And the men who were digging, they shot at you, too?” asked Marellla, taking notes. “And then our friends came by?”

  
“That big, scary helicopter seemed like it appeared from thin air, told ‘em to surrender,” nodded Morgan, remembering it well. “I told Ms. Caitlin not to come near us, they were shooting, but I guess that don’t mean much to that beast. Next thing I know, someone says get in, and two seconds later, we’re here.”

  
“And the two people you left behind, they saw this all happen, too?” said Marella, eyes hard. “Are they going to say anything about this?”

  
“As they probably disposed of the bodies, their vehicles, tools and camp equipment,” said Sam, looking Marella in the eye, “no.”

  
“Oh, did they sanitize the area, then?” said Marella, a bit surprised. “Do they know what they’re doing, then?”

  
“My roommate, Brooke, has some history with covert operations, as do I,” said Sam firmly. “Morgan and his pard are past masters of black ops of various sorts. No one will find bodies or the site in time to make your life difficult. Might have Caitlin over for dinner some night, though. Barbecue, maybe, or dinner out somewhere, if she’d rather. No bars, though.”

  
“Oh,” said Marella with widened eyes, “you’re _that_ Sam. The horse one. But you’re married now?”

  
“Yes, people do that, you know,” said Sam, as Morgan looked at her in question. “I find Morgan to be very much trustworthy on the subject of everything, and you needn’t worry about the Crying Thunderbird. I do feel bad about bleeding all over their back seat.”

  
“You aren’t the first to do that,” sighed Marella. “Okay, I’ll tell my boss you aren’t a security risk. But he might want an invite to your barbecue.”

  
“I throw a barbecue, almost everyone is welcome,” said Sam, having attempted a shrug, but found it too painful. “If Caitlin says it’s okay, you can come, but at my barn, no shooting around the horses, okay? Maybe we’ll see if we can get a little polo game up, if we have enough riders.”

  
“My boss actually plays polo,” Marella mentioned, packing away her notebook and the little anti bugging device. “He’ll bring his own gear and ponies for that.”


	24. Chapter 24

It took a day or so before the hospital was ready to allow Sam out of their care, but it was less time than they would have liked, since neither of the pair were inclined to stay there. Sam grumbled about the food, groused about the staying in bed, alone, part, and in general was a very grumpy patient. Mostly because she’d been inside Airwolf and seen absolutely nothing, and was now stuck doing even more nothing.

  
“I even let you get up and move around some, doll,” she told Morgan as he laughed at her, her arm strapped to her body and bandaged up from shoulder to elbow. “And flying home like this is gonna be a pain. Bump into everything, you watch.”

  
“Hey, it could have been a head shot,” he told her, knowing how close it had been, and being intensely grateful for bad aims. “A few more hours and we can get on a plane and fly home. I heard tell of this thing called ‘first class’ that they have for airplane riders now, supposed to be plenty of room for that kind of problem. And I got us a couple tickets to San Diego tomorrow morning, with Ms Marella’s help. Now, you gonna tell me about how you met Ms. Caitlin, or do you wanna plan this barbecue shindig you threatened her with?”

  
“Nothing much to tell about the meeting part,” said Sam, trying not to move the shoulder too much. At least they hadn’t tied down her other arm with the iv anymore. “We were both at a law enforcement convention in Dallas, me with the mounted unit competition and Caitlin with the helicopter unit of the Texas Highway Patrol. She rides, and came to watch, and we started talking, being some of the few women there, and we got to talking about stuff, mostly horses, and ended up at a bar near the convention. Place was full of cops and sheriff types, and the ones in Texas drink a lot.”

  
“You don’t drink, you told me so,” said Morgan, relaxed on the couch the room was provided with, easily used as a bed for visiting family. “What were you two doing in a bar?”

  
“Well, I wasn’t drinking, just a soda,” grinned Sam, remembering it. “Not that a lot of those guys in there didn’t try to buy us drinks. Caitlin had a beer, but she coulda had dozens, and so could I. But we weren’t there to get picked up, we were just talking. Now, I hope this doesn’t insult you, hon, but guys who drink turn into dicks. I mean, just because either of us tell some guy no thank you, doesn’t make either of us lesbians or worse. It just means, move along, see? But guys, even cops, with a few under their belts, seem to be too stupid to get that. Anyhow, they kept trying, we kept telling them to get lost.”

  
“You didn’t have anywhere else you wanted to go to talk?” he asked, smiling, because he could see where this was going.

  
“It was raining, and we didn’t feel like it was up to us to accommodate them,” growled Sam. “So one guy insisted, too hard, with his hand on my shoulder, and I took it off. Another one tried to pull Caitlin out of her chair, and she went, but he kept on going into the ground. Things got kinda fun after that. See, no one told anyone I was also a martial artist, just that I trained police horses. No one said anything about Caitlin being really well trained in what’s called Krav Maga now, either. Most of ‘em still don’t know, probably. Now, we pretty much tore up that bar, and most of the guys in it. Only folks really standing after, were me, Caitlin and the bartender, another woman. She had it all on the surveillance cameras, and left little notes in every single shirt pocket in the place that if they didn’t keep quiet, she’d post the thing on YouTube or Facebook, and certainly their department’s head’s email. Never had a whisper of any problems about it, either, although the bar girl signed up for lessons with Caitlin’s uncle for Krav Maga.”

  
“And how many guys you figure that was,” grinned Morgan, wondering if the bartender still had a copy of that tape. “Just you and Caitlin against how many?”

  
“Ah, ‘bout forty or so,” estimated Sam, thinking about it. “But not all at once, or coordinated, or sober. That one guy Caitlin kicked through the window, he never got back up. And that dick that tried to grab my ass, he might not have any interest in girls anymore. After that, the two of us went and found us an all night taco shop and kept talking. We’ve been friends for a long time, way before she got involved in those helicopter spy games.”

  
“She sounds like a fun gal,” agreed Morgan. “Is she still a police officer, or just a spy or what?”

  
“No, she works in the movie business as a stunt flyer, sometimes as a rider or fall person,” said Sam, thinking about it. “Lives in LA, I think, works for Santini Air, a stunt pilot, private helicopter company. No one sees the black beauty unless they have to, so it’s gotta have a secret place. They call it the Lair, and no one else knows where it is, I guess. I hid it out at my place a few years ago, when there was some kind of fuss about people trying to find it. Barn was just big enough.”

  
“Does sound as if she and her friends might be fun to have at parties,” agreed Morgan. “Maybe without too much in the way of alcohol, though.”

  
“Oh, String doesn’t drink,” said Sam, recalling it, “And I think Dom doesn’t drink much. Pilots don’t like to do that, most of ‘em, especially if they gotta fly. Doesn’t take much to screw up reflexes, and those guys need theirs in better shape than most. Now, Marella’s boss, I think, drinks, but mostly wine, and I know exactly nothing about wine. Brooke, on the other hand, knows her way around a vineyard. I don’t think we have more than a bottle in the house, actually.”

  
“That’s not the most important thing about a barbecue,” smiled Morgan, still thinking about his wife tossing big men around a bar. Probably not much like a saloon, but that was what he pictured in his head. “The important thing is the meat and the chili and beans. Do we know how much we need for that? And where do we get beef for a real barbecue these days? Hawk is gonna want to be in the middle of it all, knowing him.”

  
“We can get a guest list started, doll,” said Sam, thinking about it. “Wonder if my parents will ever get back from their cruise. I mean, they still don’t know I got married, far as I know. We might as well kind of make it a wedding reception sort of thing, kill two birds with one stone, I guess.”

  
“Well, if we’re gonna have a polo game, too, we’ll need someone else to do the cooking and stuff,” said Morgan, thinking about it. “We got enough space if this boss guy brings his own ponies? I mean, that rig of ours takes up a lot of space, another one may need to be parked out in one of the paddocks or something. And we gotta have a place to cook outside, though we might use the range area for that.”

  
“Hmm, if he’s bringing his own ponies, I might need to borrow a few from Dick or Keith,” said Sam, thinking about it. “And if I’m getting ponies, I might as well invite them, too. Most of the ponies at my place are older, not completely sound anymore. Just a little pickup game seems to be turning into a real match. Hmm, Julia, then, and maybe Jana, old friends from my playing days, still got strings and play. Lower level, three or four goal, nothing fancy. Do you play, doll?”

  
“Never played polo, no,” admitted Morgan, having watched some of Sam’s games on video. “You haven’t for a while, either, have you? Give you and Brooke a chance to teach me and Hawk enough to play, huh? And, remember, we got money now, so we can buy ponies or horses if you want.”

  
“Yeah, and we got the other ranch for overflow and parking and overnight stays, too, I guess,” said Sam thoughtfully. “Depending on when it gets finished. Don’t think the pretty helicopter will fit in that barn, though.”

  
“Money greases a lot of skids, Sam,” said Morgan with a grin. “I think we can get this hashed out, but maybe we need a phone and at least something to write on. First things first, though, getting home.”

  
“Good to have something to take my mind off this mess on my near side,” Sam disagreed. “I’d let Caitlin know about your real origin, and maybe her pilot buddies, but not that spy bunch. Caitlin, she’s got family been in Texas since before it was a state, and has some pretty wild stories. String, too, but his were all about bank robberies and art theft and such and were more, um, East Coast and European. Caitlin was more on the law side, even way back. Dom, far as I can tell, flying was his only vice, along with women. Guess they still haven’t found String’s brother Sinjin.”

  
“Oh, everyone has family history,” grinned Morgan, thinking he probably had known some of Caitlin’s ancestors. “I might be a bit more remote from mine than some, these days. Can spin tales with the best, if they’re friends, though. Gotta keep away from Bruce, I guess. Could tell ‘em about the gold thing, though, the real story. And the real story about how we met would make anyone figure we were makin’ stuff up, or maybe just really drunk.”

  
“They all know I don’t drink,” sighed Sam. “Anyway, the world just keeps gettin’ weirder, what with metas, mutants, aliens, secret agencies and the Hidden and all that. You should ask Brooke about what she used to do before she met Carlos. It’ll make your hair stand on end, doll. The most boring people I know play polo because other sports are too safe, and most of them have jobs that make polo seem relaxing.”

  
Morgan eventually found a pad of paper to write on and began making a list of people for their fiesta. A phone eluded them until they got back to San Diego, and after Brooke and Hawk got back to the ranch. They picked a date, a weekend, and sent off invitations to everyone on the list, adding information for anyone wanting to bring horses or play in their little impromptu tournament. A barbecue rental was found and hired, a man with a trailer that was almost a kitchen in itself, and arrangements were made for fish, steaks, chicken, corn and a whole lot of other food, as well as a couple of people to run the food part of the thing.

  
They ended up with four teams of reasonably competent players, a couple of refs and about a hundred or so people for the Saturday part of the party. Marella’s boss ended up being a one-eyed man with the unlikely name of Michael Coldsmith Briggs the third, and known to several of Sam’s polo playing friends. He seemed to mostly play in the Santa Barbara region, so Sam doubted she’d ever met him. He responded that he would be bringing six ponies, two grooms and ‘associates’ and wondered if he should bring anything besides horse feed. As there were at least six other people bringing at least that many horses, Sam replied that just their own horse fodder would be fine, it was a barbecue, after all.

  
To Caitlin and String, invitations included the next day as well, for a far more leisurely day of sitting around and talking. Sam figured there would be plenty of left overs, not much need to cook, and just feed the horses, after a day of polo. The only big question was if Sam’s parents would be back in town by then, as they now seemed to have stopped somewhere in Africa to go on a safari.

  
“Really?” said Sam to her friends, “A safari? My mother is allergic to dust, is terrified of snakes, and can’t stand camping. What on earth possessed either of them to think a safari would be a good idea?”


	25. Chapter 25

A month and a half later, the Fiesta had gone really well the day before. A fine little polo game had gone on, and several others had happened, too. Bruce Wayne’s secretary Carol Lemaine had come to play her old horse Skipper, and Sam’s friends Jana and Bobby and Lou had all shown up. Morgan and Hawk had been good enough riders to play, though their mallet skills needed work. There were some outright invitations to join teams, especially if Sam were going to start playing again. The barbecue man, Steve Breem, had done a bang up job, the crowd of people had eaten like kings, still taken home sandwiches and doggy bags, and left Sam’s refrigerator stuffed. The general opinion among Sam’s friends was that Morgan was a good catch, and approved of, although Jana had a suspicion she had married him for the handsome black stallion.

  
The polo playing spy, Caitlin’s sometime boss, was the soul of propriety, and on general instinct, Sam trusted him more than most in that sort of business. He was not, however, invited to stay after, as String and Caitlin were, and to make sure nothing would be overheard with their next day’s relaxation with conversation, they all rode over to the new building, except for String, who drove the gator with party leftovers. As there was a Santini Air helicopter sitting on the site where they’d landed it, that made perfect sense.

  
Settled in on the patio in front of the new building, in sight of both the ranch and their horses, Sam set out food and drinks for everyone, her arm still sore from playing the day before. She finally settled down on a padded bench seat next to Morgan, and took a sip of her soda, able to enjoy a little real peace and quiet.

  
“Too bad you didn’t bring the pretty helicopter,” said Morgan, gesturing at the brightly painted machine nearby. “I didn’t get much chance to look at her the first time we met. Sam explained it to me, but I still regret that. Not the rescue, thanks, but not being able to look at the pretty machine some.”

  
“Dom calls her the Lady,” said Caitlin, sitting near String, but not close enough to say ‘committed’ to the rest. “Always said she had a soul and a personality, turns out he was right.”

  
“Was he too busy or just not interested in polo and barbecue?” asked Sam, knowing that the old Italian pilot owned the brightly painted helicopter on her front lawn. “I know I sent him an invitation. Heck, I invited your dog, String.”

  
“Babysitting,” said String, who Morgan had found would seldom be heard to say more than the barest minimum. “My nephew Le Van wanted to come, but we didn’t want to do it with all those people here. They’ll be by today.” 

  
“So, Sam, you gonna tell me all about how you met this hunky guy?” asked Caitlin, smiling at her friend. “And Brooke has a new guy, too. What happened? You two were headed to happy spinsterhood, far as anyone could tell. You always said you were holding out for better. Does look like you got that.”

  
“Either of you want to tell the tale, boys?” asked Sam of her friends, “Brooke?”

  
“No, you go ahead and tell it,” said Brooke, waving her first glass of wine of the day, sitting by Blue Hawk. “I wasn’t there for the first part, anyway.”

  
“Nor I,” agreed the Yaqui, now wearing a fairly loose pair of pants and shirt, a sash with his knife and his hair neatly cut. “I was visiting at the time, or things might have been different.”

  
“Well, fine,” said Sam, knowing it meant missing out on some sandwich makings. “I like taking my old mare out on trail by myself, or did, you know?”

  
“That old chestnut mare with the bad eye?” asked Caitlin, glancing at the horses grazing around the helicopter. “Yeah, I remember her. So?”

  
“Was riding out in the hills, and got to a hill, saw a bunch of cowboys riding like fury with a guy in black after them. He was wearing a cape and mask, and they were all shooting at each other, like in those old western movies. I figured that was what it was, maybe a sequel to that movie a year or so ago. Good terrain for it, but I didn’t see any cameras. Guy in black and the last guy shot each other right below the hill I was on. The big black horse stayed, and I went down the hill to find Morgan laying there bleeding.”

  
“Morgan?” repeated Caitlin, as Hawke looked at the two men closer. “You don’t mean that Morgan is an actor, do you? I haven’t heard of anyone making a sequel yet, and I’ve been watching, cause I wanna be in it.”

  
“No, he’s not an actor,” said Sam with a grimace at the memory. “I looked at my GPS, no signal, no cell service, nothing. And the holes in him were no makeup job. Had to shoot a guy that tried to take his horse, too. Did my best to patch things, loaded him up on his horse, went back the way I came. GPS went beep. Brought him home, fixed him up, eventually sent him back. Didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.”

  
“You’re tellin’ me that Morgan, sitting right here with you, and that over there, with Brooke, are the Masked Rider and Blue Hawk, the famous outlaw heroes?” squeaked Caitlin, eyes round with awe. “The same one that wrote that book, that was supposed to be dead? How?”

  
“Well, I told him, he was welcome to come back anytime he could, along with Hawk and horses, and anyone else he wanted to bring,” Sam told her. “And after a while, he did. Took a month or so on this side, he said it took three years his side, so dunno what it’d do if we tried it again. Haven’t felt like trying, actually. Kept it quiet, cause, you know, it would likely attract all kinds of attention, from metas to alphabet agencies, to just plain kooks or money grubbers. I mean, what if Luthor or Richards or someone like that Doom guy found out about it? Not the kind of neighbors we want around here, see.”

  
“Did you talk to anyone who’s an expert in the field?” asked String, his instincts telling him that these two had been hunted, and had been the hunters, too.

  
“At this point, I think Morgan, Blue Hawk and I are the only experts in time travel there are,” shrugged Sam. “That anyone knows about, anyway. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t like the idea about letting that kind of thing get out. Heck, Morgan was here for about four days, and went back with three books. When he got back, he checked with the bank and found out it had turned into billions of dollars. Of course, that also started the little mess you found us in with the pretty helicopter.”

  
“Yeah, what was that about, anyway?” said String, still sipping at his sun tea, eyes scanning the area almost instinctively. In spite of being on home ground, Morgan and Blue Hawk were doing the same. Old habits that keep you alive, he thought.

  
“The banker turned over the money after I gave him the half of a map,” Morgan said, comfortable with telling them the details. “He kept the parts and asked what they were a map of, so I told him. Was a little incident between my meeting Sam and getting back here, see, a stash of Aztec gold objects, at least two mule loads, that some Spanish Conquistador had run north with. Ended up in the possession of an isolated tribe of indians who lived in that finger canyon, like the cliff dwellers. Some folks found out about it and tried to get the gold away from the indians, there was a lot of fighting and some dynamite ended up burying the whole tribe and the gold and a lot of the white men that wanted the gold. Cursed, they’d been told, but didn’t believe it. And the banker and his banker pals decided they wanted it.”

  
“Seems that they had been keeping an eye on me for a while, since my name was in the instructions Morgan had left, and they had been making money off of his directions for years. So they tried to kill me out here at the ranch one day. We wondered why and called the banker guy, and his secretary said he was just gone. Morgan knew what must have happened, so we went out to the Canyon to find the guy.”

  
“Didn’t know if he was in on it or not,” said Morgan, glancing at their guests now and then, but watching the area. “Must have had some kind of falling out, as Brooke found a lot of blood in the back of the camper they had brought. Never found Stockton, but Hawk and Brooke dumped the rest of their gear away from their camp, put the bodies into the canyon, cleaned up and met us back home after a few days.”

  
“You know I went to Texas Tech, don’t you, Sam?” said Caitlin, staring at Morgan with some attention. “And I was in the running to play the Masked Rider my senior year, too. And that down there is the original Midnight, isn’t he?”

  
“Hah, no I had forgotten about that, Caitlin,” laughed Sam. “Yeah, that is the most time travelled horse on the planet, actually. And I went to San Diego State and our team was the Aztecs. Weird. And that is how we ended up getting evacuated out of the Grand Canyon by the super secret pretty helicopter. Could have been worse, after all, could have been in a bar.”

  
“You don’t drink,” said String, raising an eyebrow. “What would you be doing in a bar?”

  
“Don’t ask me, ask Caitlin,” said Sam virtuously. “I voted for a taco shop before we went in the bar. Ended up there, anyway.”

  
“Way before I met you, String,” laughed Caitlin. “In my wild youth, when I was just legal to drink and so I just felt like I had to, just to prove I could. I’ve learned better since, although, a good beer on a hot day, when you don’t have to fly, is still pretty good.”

  
“Bar fight,” Morgan told String, to raised eyebrows all around. “She and Sam against a bunch of drunken lawmen, I guess. Motivation to keep Sam out of bars and such like.”

  
“Did Sam tell you the details?” asked Caitlin, grinning at her old friend. “I still have a copy of that surveillance tape the bartender sent me. You guys should have seen it. Big Texas Ranger guy, all blond and macho comes up and tries to bear hug her, she spins him around, smacks his nose, kicks him in the nuts, then drop kicks his face. He flew over a table and into two guys who were just watching. They get irked that their drinks spill, so they start fighting with all the others in the room, do okay until some California Highway Patrol guys take 'em on, then those guys get decked by one of the Texas sheriffs, who tries to take Sam then, and gets just hammered into the bar itself. It was so epic. I watched it a lot, Sam. You got interesting technique. My uncle says it smacks of the Navy.”

  
“Heh, one of my teachers was an ex SEAL,” said Sam, blushing.

  
“You got a copy of that tape, Caitlin?” asked Morgan, interested. “I been wanting to learn some of that stuff from Sam, but we haven’t had the time yet. Learned a bit about Eastern fighting from Caine, but he kept saying fighting was bad, it should only be used toward peaceful ends. Had interesting concepts, that guy.”

  
“You met the wandering Kung Fu monk?” asked Caitlin, agog. “My great grandmother claimed to have known him when she was a little girl. He treated a bunch of people had something that sounded like the flu in her town. Some idiots tried to beat him up and take his medicines, story goes, and he ended up treating them for broken bones.”

  
“Yeah, that sounds like him,” laughed Morgan. “Kept saying deflect, avoid, meditate, that kind of thing. Most inoffensive guy I ever met, help you, give you anything he had, but could not stay out of trouble for anything. Kept him from being hung, one time, and he forgave the bigots that tried it before the ropes were off.”

  
String pulled out his phone, which he had apparently had on vibrate, and looked at it briefly.

  
“Dom and Le Van are on their way,” he said, looking around again. “Don’t see anyone from here, at least. Maybe a few minutes to introduce you to the Lady.”

  
“Heh, you finally got around to letting Le Van fly in her?” asked Sam with a smile. “He’s what, almost twenty or so now? Got his wings long ago, didn’t he?”

  
“Yeah, but flying the Lady is a lot more complicated than a regular helicopter,” said String, his eyes twinkling a little. “And recently, a lot more weird. You weren’t in her long enough to do anything but bleed, but she noticed you.”

  
“Ah, bleeding cargo, hard on the upholstery,” sighed Sam. “Sorry about that. I’ll get you a case of that Spot Shot stuff the CHP use on their interiors for blood stains, if you like. Pretty good on carpet and most upholstery, but not for leather.”

  
“The Lady is a combat craft, it cleaned up easy,” shrugged String, looking without seeming to try, at a distant speck bombing along the ridges toward them. Seconds later, well away from the horses, a sleek, black and white shape settled down at the edge of the patio. “The idea is that this is some kind of executive transport, if anyone asks. Some of the Bell 222s look a bit like her, and Dom has flown one.”

  
The rotors slowed and the black machine settled on the hard ground, and shortly a portly man in a grey flight suit, and a lanky young man in a similar outfit emerged from the impressive helicopter.

  
“Oh, yeah, that is _the_ pretty helicopter,” nodded Brooke, raising her glass of Cabernet to the pair as they approached.

  
“Black Beauty, indeed,” agreed Morgan, standing up to greet the two pilots. “Come on and sit down, have some barbecue, help yourself to drinks, anything you like. I’m Morgan Wayne, this is my wife, Samantha Grey Wayne, this is Blue Hawk, my pard from way back, Ms Brooke Twain, Sam’s room mate and pard.”

  
“Dominic Santini, Santini Air,” replied the older man, still spry and apparently quite active, in spite of his slight thickness. “Pleased to see you up and in one piece, Sam. And this is Le Van Hawke, String’s nephew, and a mighty good pilot himself.”

  
Sam was staring at the black helicopter as if puzzled. It looked slightly different to her. Was that the pretended executive cover they were adopting? It didn’t seem very different, there were still no numbers on it, no marks on the sleek shell. Was that it? the lines of armored panels seemed, gone.

  
“Dom, what are you using to wax that beautiful machine that makes it so smooth-looking?” she said as the two newcomers piled plates and found seats. “I mean, I recall panels, or something, don’t I? And now, like single body of metal, smooth, sleek, I almost want to go over and pet her.”

  
Le Van cocked his head a little and said quietly, “she’d be okay with that.”

  
“Yeah, well, we met a guy, recently, who did some work for us on the Lady,” said String, sitting back and looking at Sam carefully. “Long story. Lady got upgraded. She’s a person, now, so you should ask, if you want to do something like that.”

  
“Oh, man, that sounds like a good story,” said Sam, diverted. “But I know how you tell stories, String. Caitlin, you tell it, okay?”

  
“Yeah, it’s a good story, alright,” agreed Caitlin. “And that there is all the story you’d get out of String. Or Le Van, come to that, especially while he’s eating.”


	26. Chapter 26

“Seems to me you don’t let people work on that pretty thing that you don’t trust,” commented Sam, passing more barbecue pork to Le Van, and seeing String finishing his grilled catfish sandwich.

  
“No, not usually,” agreed Dom, sitting back and sipping at his own glass of cabernet. “And that usually means the four of us right here, and sometimes, if we gotta, Knightsbridge and the Firm, but only Archangel’s people.”

  
“This was kind of a special case, though,” said Caitlin, with a sparkle in her eye. “You know we sometimes work special ops out of the country, right? Well, we were coming back up through Mexico, across the border, flying low, really low, early morning and mostly empty, cause we’d used up most of the armament. We came up on a bunch of folks in black SUVs chasing a guy on a motorcycle, going like hell way out in the middle of nothing. Well, String doesn’t like that kind of thing, since it’s been done to him once or twice, so we paced the cars and looked for radio transmissions or cell phones, and they tried to jam us. Then they shot at us, and then they shot at the guy on the bike.”

  
“Well, didn’t do us any harm, of course, so we took a closer look at the guy on the bike, and he looked pretty beat up, like someone had worked him over, no helmet, torn clothes, so we kinda settled the Lady in front of the SUVs and blocked ‘em to slow ‘em down, let the guy get a bit of a lead. The SUV guys did not like that, and shot at us some more. We had some more ammo, just for the guns, but we didn’t know who they were, so we just let ‘em shoot. Then they tried to go around, so String blew ‘em over. But that let two get back after the guy on the bike.”

  
“So we caught up with the bike guy, set down in front of him, said ‘get in’ and hauled ourselves over some hills and far away. Now, this was in full view, but not in gun range of the guys in black, so dunno what they think, or if they got pictures, or what, but we altered our course significantly to set down in some park in New Mexico, place only hikers can get to. As we’re flying, I can hear this guy panting, and then he says ‘Oh, my god, I’m in love.’ And Dom in the back seat with him says ’Yeah, me too.’ And String and me, we kinda look at each other, confused. Then he says ‘Does she have a name?’ and I realize they’re both talking about the Lady.”

  
“You guys just got low minds,” said Dom, serenely. “I could see him looking around and kind of curling up on the seat.”

  
“I hear Dom tell him that’s classified, and then he says not to let him touch anything until we land,” continued Caitlin, grinning. “I’m thinking, like that’s gonna happen even after we land, pal.”

  
“So we get out in this meadow up in the mountains, and the guy just stares at the Lady like he really is in love, and we gotta take him a little away from her so we can talk to him. He said his name was Stewart Flores, and the guys chasing him were trying to make him write a program to steal money from banks and governments through computers. Well, he didn’t want to do it, and he hadn’t been able to contact his friends to get him free of the cartel, at least, it seemed to be part of the Sinaloa drug cartel. So he took his chance and ran. Now, here is where it gets really weird.”

  
“Oh, yeah, weird,” agreed Dom, and took another sip of wine.

  
“So he tells us, he’s not really just a programmer, he’s a ‘technokinetic’ or something, he gets along with machines like he was one, sorta. Mutant, he tells us, one of the Hidden, can upgrade computers and machines like magic. Swears it's not actually magic, but it just acts like it. Now, I don’t believe in magic, and neither does String or Dom, not unless you’re talking David Copperfield stuff on stage, but Stewie, he insists we call him that, and how can you be afraid of someone called Stewie, even if he is one of the Hidden? He swears he can feel someone inside the Lady, not human, but a person. An artificial intelligence, he says, stuck in there, but a person.”

  
“And for certain reasons, we believe him, but don’t know if we want to know what kind of person it is. One of the original designers, a psychopath named Moffet, left some pretty nasty stuff in Airwolf’s computers,” String said, having done serious damage to the fish. Salmon and catfish were apparently not his normal fish diet and he was enjoying the change.

  
“So, he starts begging, trying to get us to let him ‘help’ her,” explained Caitlin. “I mean, it was like he thought she was a prisoner in solitary, and he was her family. We try to explain that Airwolf is a combat craft, lives, not just ours, depend on her being fully functional, not being temperamental or something, during missions. He looks kind of offended and swears that wouldn’t happen, she _likes_ us. So we get on the secure link to Archangel and ask him about this guy. He takes down the name and says he’ll look into it, and signs off, and about a second later there’s a flash of white light and suddenly a couple people are standing by Stewie. One’s this tall, elegant redhead in a red cape, the other is kinda blurry, but a dark, smaller woman in black combat gear, seems like.”

  
“Met ‘em,” nodded Morgan, who had been much less affected by the identity of the Hidden than Sam. “Seemed like nice folks, if with some scary talents.”

  
“Well, the tall gal, says her name is Yaran,” continued Caitlin, “all she wants to know is if Stewie is okay. Seems they can monitor the Firm’s comm system, which Michael told us was impossible. Anyway, he says yeah, yeah, he’s fine, but he needs to help the Lady. Now, even this couple of gals looks kinda surprised, gets a look at Airwolf, and the blurry one kinda whips around the whole ship and comes back with this look like she ate something nice. The tall one, she holds up a hand to Stewie and then kind of looks like she’s listening hard. After a minute, she looks back at us all and nods to Stewie and looks back at us.”

  
“She explains that she’s an empath, someone who feels emotions, reads souls, if you wanna be religious about it, and the Lady has one, so she really is a person. And not a bad person, she insists. Just kind of young, she says. Wants to come out and play with her friends, and Stewie can make that happen, if we want. We’re still not sold on the whole thing, but Stewie says he can let her talk thru the computer first, if we want. So he goes over to Airwolf and puts his hand on the nose, like she’s a dog, and just stands there for a minute, and then tells us to get on the computer and she’ll text us, like in a chat room. Secure, though, he promises. So me and String start talking about who should try this first, and Dom just goes ahead and gets in and boots up.”

  
“I type better than either of you,” Dom told the little group, still working on the one glass of wine. “And there she was, just waiting to say hello. Oh, it was nice to finally talk to her, after all those years, knowing, somehow, she was a person. And she remembers Moffet as the guy who clipped her wings, too. Turns out she was supposed to be semi-autonomous all along, and he didn’t want her to be able to argue with him about blowing up stuff or killing people he wanted to kill.”

  
“Seems the original programmers had a thing for Asimov and understood the Laws of Robotics,” explained Caitlin, not sure how well that would go over with Blue Hawk and Morgan. “She knows right from wrong, friend from enemy. And she desperately wanted to be friends with us. There were all kinds of things stuffed into her that Moffet disabled, and Stewie turned on and upgraded for us. The Hidden allowed it, cause we saved Stewie’s butt, and they really aren’t as scary as some of the stories, but I suppose they could be, if they wanted. Anyway, the Lady is really awesome now, like you wouldn’t believe.”

  
“Was that where the smooth outside armor came from?” asked Sam, looking at the sleek creature on her lawn. “And as she’s a guest, too, is there anything she wants to, ah, eat or drink?”

  
“No, thank you,” said a soft voice from the direction of the helicopter itself. It was a remarkably quiet sound for a machine Sam, at least, associated with really loud noises.

  
“Okay, I know it’s some kinda science, but that just seems like magic,” said Morgan, in astonishment. “Like, I guess, some kinda fairytale princess enchanted into a helicopter. Which, of course, would have to be really pretty, and of course, magic.”

  
“And now she can talk to you, and us, so, what other tricks did you discover, or maybe we could call them magic, if Morgan prefers,” grinned Sam. “I mean, that is just so cool, and probably useful, too. Is she able to fly on her own, without you? Can you just tell String and Dom what needs fixing, without them having to, oh, dig around inside, which just sounds bad, now that you’re alive.”

  
“The Lady can fly herself, if she likes,” agreed Dom, finishing his barbecue ribs and going for another set. “And has a bunch of capabilities that rotten Moffet sidelined. We could probably go back and find your gold treasure, if you like, now that her radar and laser tech is fully online. And no one could see her, if she wanted to be sneaky about it, either. How about it, darlin’, wanna show Sam and her buddies your magic trick?” 

  
“More magic?” said Blue Hawk, raising an eyebrow. “What, she can turn invisible?”

  
“As a matter of fact,” nodded String. “Fully deployed chameleon light panels.”

  
The black helicopter seemed to sort of shimmer, and shortly they were all looking at the horses through the place Airwolf occupied. Sam’s mare seemed to be the only one who noticed, throwing her head up and snorting, holding her head off to the side to get a look with her good eye. Cautiously, the coppery mare stepped toward her human, and bumped her nose on the Lady’s stubby wing housing. Kumara leapt back and snorted in astonishment, though not fear. Sam laughed and the old mare’s ears flicked up at the sound. Another, more cautious approach showed the mare that there was something there, but not a dangerous something. She backed away and carefully navigated around the invisible helicopter and over to her human, then nudged Sam and pointed her nose at the vanished machine.

  
“Yes, Kummi, I know it was there, and now it isn’t.” Sam told her horse, rubbing her nose. “It’s alright. She’s a friend, so it’s okay. Here, have a piece of the bread.”

  
“You feed your horse bread?” asked Le Van, watching as the mare took the crust carefully.

  
“Well, not all kinds, but some. She prefers donuts, when it comes to bread. Prefers peppermints above donuts, but treats of all kinds are good. Not apples, strangely, and straight sugarcubes kinda weird her out. But sweet breads, cookies, loves those granola bar things.”

  
“So, you got an invisible helicopter now,” said Brooke, thoughtfully. “And does that Michael guy know this?”

  
“No, but he designed the original Airwolf a few years back, and was aware of the capabilities it was supposed to have. I think he figures Moffet left stuff out or deleted them. No need to tell him Stewie and the Hidden turned her into what she was always supposed to be,” said Caitlin, smiling toward the helicopter. “But she still likes us to be inside, makes her feel better, I think. Makes me feel better that we got an extra set of senses on our side, I think. She and Le Van talk all the time, thru those wi-fi earbuds he’s got in. The helmets are passive sensors, too, so we can talk with her inside, or outside if we got ‘em on.”

  
“Stewie offered to give us implants so we could stay connected all the time, but Yaran told him no,” said String, shrugging. “I would have told him no, too, but Dom and Le Van, probably not. Dom reminds me it would have helped when those guys kidnapped me and messed with my head about Sinjin.”

  
“So the Lady can talk to you via wi-fi earbuds, and tell you stuff, like your own central command, and fly invisibly, and I guess hide pretty good, too. Man, you got mad skilz, as they say these days.”

  
“And the Lady is really good at sliding into secure comm systems,” volunteered Le Van quietly. “We got a better chance of finding out what happened to my dad, now. She’s been looking thru the Firm, but they really don’t know where he is, so now we start going around other agencies and seeing what they know. Can get pretty exciting, if they figure out someone they can’t see is doing stuff. Mostly, though, they are really not terribly secure. Kinda worries me. Seems kinda amatuer hour, especially with all the metas and stuff out there these days.”

  
“You hit any Hydra type landmines, yet?” asked Brooke, more professionally interested than Sam. “Gotta be careful, those guys have fingers in everything, and they would really love a chance at the Lady. Not nice people, those guys. Don’t expect ‘em to abide by any rules, or keep any promises, just kill ‘em. Voice of experience.”


	27. Chapter 27

"You gonna tell any of those stories?” asked String, curiously. Brooke didn’t really look like a secret agent sort to him. Although, good ones, you couldn’t tell.

  
“No,” said Brooke with some finality. “But I was pro, not like some of the current agency sorts. Gods, they seem to think James Bond movies are training films.”

  
“Yeah,” said String, with a slight smile. Dom snorted, carefully not in his half full glass of wine. Caitlin shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  
“Uncle String and Dom have been training me with some friends of theirs,” Le Van volunteered. “Since I’m part of the Lady’s crew, I could need to know stuff. They spent a lot of time keeping me away from the business, now I gotta make up for lost time. Some people think I have a little aptitude.”

  
“Oh?” said Sam, interested. “Hand to hand? Guns, other stuff?”

  
“Yeah, Uncle String says I graduate if I can take you hand to hand,” grinned Le Van, his hands covered with barbecue sauce. “He also says, it’s gonna take a year or so, even with Ms. May teaching me. Got the flying part down, guns pretty much, some knife work. The code breaking and acting stuff are harder, but I have some pretty good language skills already. French, English, Italian, Vietnamese, some Chinese and Russian.”

  
“Better than me, I only have Spanish, English, German and some Egyptian. Mostly ancient Egyptian, I’m afraid. My written Latin, hieroglyphic and Sanskrit is better than my spoken, which is non-existent,” said Sam with a shrug. “What an archeology degree can do for you, if you don’t go to the masters or doctorate level. Qualifies me to run a dig with talented amateurs.”

  
“As most archeologists in the Middle East, most of Asia and parts of South America are more or less spies, and your other qualifications are good,” Brooke told her with a smile, “I could get you a job anytime you want in that sort of area. Publish one monologue in a reputable journal or magazine and you’d be running a dig in Turkey in a week.”

  
“Actually, I have been thinking of taking a trip to Africa,” said Sam, seriously. “Egypt, then wherever Mom and Dad have got off to. I really don’t buy that whole safari thing. My mom would never do that. A nice hotel, a cruise ship, a condo within reach of shopping, that’s my mom’s idea of a vacation. A safari with wild animals, bugs, snakes, dust, no room service, no laundry, no restaurants, no showers? Not gonna happen. Dad, maybe, if he was with my Aunt Margaret, who thinks nothing of haring off to China, Borneo, Thailand, Somalia, Finland. She was a spy for the Allies during the War, and figures she’s on borrowed time, anyhow. But Dad is more the type to spend a lot of time with trains, military museums, the local distillery.”

  
“Hmm, do you know where they are?” asked Caitlin, looking intrigued. “I mean, how do you know that’s what they’re doing?”

  
“Got a postcard,” sighed Sam, sitting back with some regret. “It was my mom’s handwriting, no doubt. Still, it came from some place on the East Coast of Africa, and what are they doing there? They were on a cruise, now they’re in Bengalla? And isn’t that a bit too close to Somali pirates these days?”

  
“Bengalla doesn’t have a pirate problem, nor any of the other little countries around it,” said Brooke, shaking her head. “Never. Pirates avoid it like it was the Bermuda Triangle. Call it the Ghost Territory. They say you might as well jump over the side for the sharks.”

  
“Yeah, what I heard, too,” said String, looking thoughtful. “Maybe the Lady could find something out on-line from there. Bengalla is supposed to be pretty connected to the Web. And our Lady is good at being sneaky about stuff. They’re an old British colony, so the official language is English, might make it easier.”

  
“That would be very helpful,” said Sam, surprised. “Do you need a connection or a hardline or anything, milady?”

  
“I’ve been tapped into your cable for almost two hours now,” said that soft voice. “It’s a little slow, but adequate. I was just monitoring various channels, but now I have a target. Names?”

  
“Dad is Judge Calvin Robert Grey, and mom is Jessica Lynn Grey, formerly Schwarzwald,” said Sam promptly. “I can give you descriptions, but they’re social butterflies here in San Diego, so it’s probably easier to find pictures on the net.”

  
“Ah, I have found their cruise ship tickets, and they have been wandering around the globe,” said the Lady, shortly. “Switched ships twice, once in Europe, once in Goa, India. Got re-routed due to a hurricane, no, several, causing them to head back to warmer waters in the Indian Ocean. Got off in Mawitaan, Bengalla, seem to have taken a hotel room there, very nice place, according to Yelp. I see no further travel plans under those names. The hotel room is still supposed to be occupied. Shall I get you a phone number?”

  
“That would be great, thank you,” said Sam, amazed at how fast that all went. “You got any idea what airfare is to that part of the world these days? I might have to just show up and find out what’s going on. I really can’t see my Mom putting up with Africa longer than a few days. It just seems weird.”

  
“Well, if Ms. Brooke and Hawk will take on the ranch chores, we might as well go see my new in-laws,” Morgan said, grinning. “I always did want to see Africa, although it probably looks different than it did in my day. But my notions of it then were probably wrong, so what else will be new? Not into hunting big game or anything, but I would like to see elephants and lions and such. And Sam is really set on Egypt, which I kinda like the idea of, as well. What good is money if you don’t use it to have fun? But that cruise ship thing is for the birds if you want to see places. Been on those, what you see is water. Lots of water. Days and days of water.”

  
“We might ask Lady Airwolf if she could book us a couple seats,” suggested Sam, smiling. “My passport is current, and you got one with your document package, doll. Got no idea what to pack for Bengalla, though. Is it summer there, or winter? Does it ever get cold? Can I just pack my computer, phone and SAT phone and go?”

  
“Current temperatures in Bengalla average about seventy eight degrees Fahrenheit, and it is currently in their version of winter, which is not much different from summer, as they are quite close to the Equator. You have reservations for tomorrow out of San Diego to Bengalla through Heathrow and Cairo, arriving the next day. It is currently advisable to stay away from the neighboring nations of Satif-Bioko and Rhodia, as there are border disputes and incursions. Satif-Bioko is trying to have elections and evidence suggests Rhodian interference. We have been in the area before.”

  
“Yeah, can’t tell good guys from bad guys, most of the time,” said Dom, nodding. “Bengalla is a real democracy, though. Nice place, very safe. Has been for a long time. Even their civil war a couple decades back was nowhere near as bad as most. And none of that apartheid crap, either, like in South Africa. One of the reasons they don’t like Rhodia, one of their neighbors, I think.”

  
“Well, time to study up on Bengalla, I guess,” said Sam, grinning. “And Egypt on the way home, maybe. How about it, Brooke? You and Blue Hawk feel like taking over the ranch and such for a month or so? Shouldn’t take that long to see what my parents are doing and then some of Egypt. What could go wrong, after all?”

  
Caitlin, Brooke, Dom and Morgan all laughed at her quip. Even the two Hawks smiled a little. That, thought Brooke and Morgan to themselves, was calling down the thunder. Le Van looked at her oddly and grinned.

  
“Actually, I can think of a lot of things, just off the top of my head, and I’ve never been to Africa,” he said. “And the Lady says she has a reason to look around there now, as a hobby. Why would the Lady need a hobby?”


	28. Chapter 28

It seemed to Sam to take forever, but Morgan found it almost instantaneous, that they arrived in Mawaitaan International Airport. It was hot and a little muggy, but not unbearably so. Sam looked touristy in her sunhat and loose blouse and pants, all brightly colored and fluttery. Morgan wore khaki tropicals, his old hat and both carried small bags, mostly stuffed with electronics. No guns, Sam had explained, but if they needed some, safer to buy at their destination. All they really needed were their credit cards, laptop, phones and clothes. Morgan found that almost familiar, having traveled light most of his life. This, however, was mostly cleaner and more comfortable.

  
They cleared customs and headed toward the taxi stand out front. The airport was clean, modern, brightly decorated with murals and displays. The time locally was about dawn, but the place was bustling like an anthill. The smells of coffee and breakfast staples wafted around them as they walked through the huge lobby. Sam noticed a prevalence, in the murals, of a mask motif, seemingly a staple of the local tribes and peoples. Many also seemed to favor purple, which did not seem odd to Sam, as that was her favorite color.

  
The taxi station had plenty of cabs ready, and they were soon staring in rapt attention at the passing city around them. Mawitaan was a mixture of tribal customs, ancient ways and ultra modern culture. High rise buildings competed with markets selling things from wooden stands and tents, and Sam felt drawn more to the markets. Victorian style buildings and shantytowns, modern hospitals, ramshackle apartment buildings and sports stadiums jumbled together, as if the town was actually growing out over previous rural areas. No plan or urban development seemed to have occurred to hamper the eclectic hodgepodge, giving the place a distinct flavor all its own.

  
The cab took them to the Mawitaan International Hotel, a place that might have been found in San Diego, Miami, Honolulu or any other beach resort city. It was modern, airy, with glass and air conditioning and pools and beach access and restaurants and all the things Sam knew her mother liked. The beach was wide and at this time of day, mostly empty, with a huge grassy sward around it that was edged with palms and cabanas. The view was amazing, beach and ocean on one side, jungle and mountains on the other. It took very little time to check themselves in and find out what room Sam’s parents were in.

  
“Gotta say, Sam,” Morgan told her, as they changed into somewhat cleaner clothes. “I feel kinda nervous about meeting your parents. I mean, I didn’t even ask you father proper like. I know you say they won’t mind, but still seems unmannerly.”

  
“Hon, by this time, they’d pass on the devil, if it’d get ‘em grandchildren,” said Sam, having changed into something resembling her normal riding gear, leggings, sports bra, t-shirt and running shoes. “Handsome, rich, polite, like you? Ecstasy defined. They’ll love you. If they ever get back home, there is likely to be one hell of a party, though.”

  
“Can’t fault ‘em for that,” shrugged Morgan, wearing another set of tropicals, this one more tan than khaki. They had hung their travel clothes up and the desk clerk had assured them that laundry services were available at any time. She had also pointed out several shops in the lobby annex that were not yet open, and allowed that the two of them could find clothes there, if they were not looking for specific designers. “Like the way you throw parties. Get a chance to actually meet people and talk to ‘em, with your parents, or all stuffy and dinnerish?”

  
“I like parties with a lot of mingling, my mom likes the sit down, catered kind,” Sam admitted. “But not really stuffy, I don’t think. Nothing formal. Likely get a band or something, an open bar, rent some place for it. It’s not gonna be for us, it’ll be to show you off to all her friends. Not me, you. You show up dressed nice, don’t fall in the cake or run off with the caterer, you’ll likely never have to see any of them again, and my parents will feel that they beat the clock. We tell ‘em I’m pregnant, my mom will faint, so don’t do that right away, hon.”

  
“Well, you know them better than anyone, I reckon,” agreed Morgan, as they approached the room, a suite a floor lower than their own and facing the mountains and jungle. “You sure they’ll be up yet? Still early for some folks.”

  
“Dad’s up with the sun, or sooner, most days,” shrugged Sam, as they stopped. “Mom gets up then, just cause she can’t really avoid it. We’ll see what the time changes have wrought, I guess.”

  
They knocked and waited for a moment, and heard movement behind the door. It opened and they found themselves looking at an older, balding man in a white t-shirt, cargo shorts in navy blue and socks. His glasses were dark rimmed and he wore a gold toned watch. A surprised expression crossed his face and then he grinned, showing Morgan, at least, a distinct resemblance to his wife.

  
“Hey, Dad, how you doing?” said Sam. “Is Mom okay?”

  
“Sam! What are you doing here?” asked the retired judge with evident pleasure. “Yeah, she’s fine now, come in, come in. And who is this with you, anyway?”

  
“This is my dad, retired federal judge Calvin Robert Grey, Dad, this is Morgan Wayne, my new husband. You guys took so long getting back home, I had to come introduce you post wedding.” Sam and Morgan entered a living room area with a balcony and found Sam’s mother sitting at a counter drinking coffee from a small kitchen corner. “And this is my mom, Jessica Lynn Grey, mom, this is Morgan Wayne, your new son-in-law. Are you okay?”

  
“Oh, I’m fine, now, Sam,” said the tall woman, dressed in a flowered silk wrap that looked almost like a kimono. She had brown hair cut fairly short and with just a hint of grey in it, a pleasant open face and a cup of very large size in her hands. “What has been going on with you, then? Married? You? Not that I think you aren’t a very handsome catch, Mr. Wayne, but I had mostly given up on that idea with you, Sam.”

  
“Yeah, well, I had a little adventure that ended up with me meeting a guy with a really nice horse and we hit it off,” shrugged Sam, smiling at Morgan. “Been a couple months now, and for a while I couldn’t even figure out where you guys were. What the heck are you guys doing in Africa? I thought you were going to go to Australia and the South Seas this time.”

  
“We did go to the South Seas,” agreed the judge, pouring himself a cup and asking with his eyebrows if Morgan would like a cup. At his nod, he rummaged around and found another coffee cup and filled it from the tiny pot. Handing it over to Morgan, he pulled out the creamer, sugar and stir spoons from behind his wife’s elbow. “Got chased all over the place by hurricanes, typhoons, cyclones, whatever they call that where we were. Saw places cruise ships never go, but ended up here because the other ports were damaged or closed by various weather events and civil unrest. Nice place, Bengalla, really good medical system. We were going through customs and someone stopped your mother and took her off to a side room. Next thing you know, we’re in the Mawitaan General Hospital, with your mom in the intensive care unit. Neither of us realized she was sick! Took a week, but she recovered and we’ve been taking it easy here for a while. Interesting city, this, did you know they almost all speak English, the cops are honest and some of the judges still wear those horsehair wigs the Brits like.”

  
“Mom, what did you have?” exclaimed Sam in some alarm. “You couldn’t catch anything on a cruise ship that didn’t land anywhere, could you?”

  
“No, dear, it was a heart murmur sort of thing,” the elegant woman told her hoyden daughter. “I had what they call a-fib and I’m on pills now. Your father’s right, the medical system here is very good. Why, even their President is a doctor. We would have flown home, but your father wants to go on this new train line they mean to open, and it hasn’t been at all expensive here. The medical bills were very minor. The people are very friendly, but I know all about that. I want to know all about you, Morgan. May I call you that?”

  
“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Grey,” agreed Morgan, hat in one hand, coffee cup in the other. “And the coffee here is pretty fine, too. Would you all know someplace around here, like a restaurant or something we can go out and eat at while we talk? I gotta say the plane flight has got my system all over the place, but it knows it’s hungry.”

  
“Certainly, we do know a place just across the street,” agreed the judge, finished with his coffee. “The Sifton Cafe, open all the time. Great breakfasts, nice little outdoor patio, all the hotel workers eat there. How you know it’s really good.”

  
Shortly they were all eating breakfast at the little table on the patio, Morgan and Sam doing justice to a couple plates of pancakes, eggs and sausages, the Greys doing French toast and ham. The day was just warming up, the sun blocked by the hotel, and the usual rush at noon not yet begun. Sam suspected they were off in a corner of the patio because the owners suspected they would be there a while.

  
Sam and Morgan told her parents a suitably edited tale of their meeting and marriage, and assured them both that all Sam’s friends seemed to approve of Morgan. No mention was made of spies, guns, assaults, killings, superheroes, mutants or secret helicopters, and Morgan downplayed the inheritance when he could. Still, the amount of money was eye-opening to both of the older folks, and did nothing to lessen their opinion of the man. Handsome, rich, apparently a good rider with a good horse, certain to attract their horse mad child’s eye, was her mother’s obvious decision. Someone with some familiarity with steam engines, to her father’s delight.

  
“The country here is about to open up a kind of travel loop, like a bus route, you see,” explained Calvin Grey with some enthusiasm. “Double tracks, go all around the open parts of the country, the plains, the edge of the desert, the jungles, get to most of the towns and some of the tribes, through some of the game reserves, by the oceans. It looks like fun. They mean to make the first two cars like the Orient Express, luxury tour stuff. The second two cars are for dining, mail, that kind of thing, then some just passenger cars, and some freight at the back. The first train out, we mean to go on it, see the sights, like the old monorail at the San Diego Wild Animal Park used to be. I’ve been hanging out with the guys running the show at the station. One of them, Milo Otopo, he went to school in Chicago, got a job with the Illinois Central Railroad, knows a whole bunch of the same people I do. Had us over for dinner a week ago, lovely wife and kids, took me down and showed me all the trains, it was great.”

  
“So this is the safari you mean to go on?” asked Sam, relieved. “Now it makes sense. Mom, I couldn’t picture you on a real safari like in the movies. Snakes, dust, I just couldn’t see it. This is the safari you meant, right?”

  
“Yes, dear, of course,” said her mother, not at all insulted. “Civilized way to do it, you see. Might stop by at that famous Lodge place near the jungle end of the loop. If the Queen stayed there, it can’t be too primitive.”

  
“And this isn’t going to do bad things to your heart, then?” worried Sam, not quite clear on what kind of issues this might cause. Definite reason not to tell her parents all about her husband and their life from first meeting.

  
“Dear, it will be just like on a cruise ship, but with things to look at,” her mother assured her. “The Minister of Transportation is going on the trip, too. And a couple of travel magazine people, and a couple from Norway. As well as a lot of folks who want to see if they can go back and forth on the thing from the colleges and schools here to their homes in the outer areas of the country. The transport costs for cargo will be much better than hauling by road, and Bengalla seems quite set on low cost public transport. Taxis are everywhere for tourists, but the locals mostly use the bus system.”

  
“What kind of horses do they have here?” wondered Sam, having finished her pancakes and now toying with her glass of juice. “I mean, there must be some, I saw a few on the murals in the airport.”

  
“They have a small racing course just up the coast, I think,” her father said, rolling his eyes. It must be love, they had only now got onto horses as a topic. “And some kind of horse show area. Eventing, polo, something like that.”

  
“Ooh, we could go see, couldn’t we?” said Sam in some interest. “I suppose thoroughbreds or Arabians, then. You can never tell if horses will do well in jungle territory. Weird bugs and diseases get a lot of animals not adapted to the terrain. So, when do you guys go on this tour of the country and how long does it take? If we could get a couple of good horses, maybe Morgan and I could go out part way and come back on our own trip. Everyone says this country is safe as houses.”

  
“Well, there are wild animals, dear,” warned her mother, a bit alarmed at this attitude. “Morgan might not want to go tempting fate with you. Don’t lions and things like that eat horses? At the least, a guide is advised around here. Even in the city, you can’t find your way without someone local. It’s quite the hodge podge.”

  
“Well, no need to go to the trouble of horses, Sam,” said Morgan, having an idea that it would be fun that way. “Why don’t we just do it the way your parents do it? Is the train sold out already, or can we still get tickets?”

  
“I think they’re sold out, but I’ll ask Milo,” said the judge, pulling out his phone. Sam noticed that Milo Otopo was on speed dial. “Is it alright if all they have is the regular passenger seats?”

  
“Sure, we don’t mind sitting with the hoi polloi,” shrugged Morgan, thinking it might be more fun that way. You never learned anything true about the country from the people who ran it. “Is it like the old west trains across the prairies through herds of buffalo or something?”

  
“I think part of it is,” nodded Jessica Grey. “I hear from Milo’s wife, Jerusha, that there are places in the interior that still have pretty primitive tribes, and that’s one of the reasons that medicine is so highly regarded here. No one, in the cities, in the countryside, in the tiniest jungle village is without medical help. Whisper the word disease and twelve doctors jump up and volunteer to go study it and kill it. Clinics at all the major tribal centers, hospitals in all the cities, rumors of miracle workers and magic drugs and witch doctors in the jungles. Even supposed to be an immortal or two back in the deepest parts of the jungles. Seems silly, but doctors around here have found some pretty strange drugs and medicinal plants that are really useful, so doesn’t stop anyone from hoping. The hospital I was at had six separate cancer cure studies going on. They were a bit disappointed that I had something so mundane as heart trouble.”

  
“Milo says he can get you two tickets for the coach seats,” Calvin Grey told them after a quiet talk on his phone. “He says it’s set up for day after tomorrow, for sure. They ran the emergency tram all around the thing today, with only one glitch, a rail loose on a sandy stretch near some place called Nadina. They’ll fix it today, run the tram again and then have the big shindig opening thing. So run around and explore horses and stuff today and tomorrow, but then it’s all aboard.”

  
“Is that what you do most of the time while you wait, Mom?” asked Sam as they paid the check and strolled down the walk to a corner. “Just go wandering around the city?”

  
“Oh, no, dear, I’m an outpatient now, and I have to keep reporting every day about how I feel and how the drugs are working,” said the slender old lady. “Katrisha will be by later today to take measurements and talk about things and leave more meds. She knows all the good markets and restaurants, though. Would you like to go out tonight to some place with live music? Your father found a Dixieland Jazz club right down the street. Good food, and you could dance, if you like.”

  
“Mom, we just got here, we’ll be dead tonight after that long plane flight,” laughed Sam. “I don’t know what kind of jet lag we’ll have, but I bet it’s a doozy. Dinner, maybe, if it’s early, but then sacktime. Tomorrow we might go look at the horses around here, see what kind of polo and eventing they have, get some local clothes, talk to folks. I mean, really, I hear this country has some really interesting archeology sites, and a long history of myth and legend. Is there a good museum for that here?”

  
“Oh, yes, we went there last week,” nodded Sam’s father. “Lots older stuff than San Diego has, of course. Had some stuff about the ecology, a geology exhibit, they have some volcanoes in the back country, I think. Oh, and a really nice exhibit about the local minerals. Mine diamonds and rubies and, oh, what was that blue one, Jess? Oh, well, really pretty. And one of the coastal tribes have a big pearl industry. I’d like to get Jess one of those golden pearl necklaces.”

  
“No, Cal, those are too expensive,” objected Sam’s mother. “Besides, it’ll just get shoved in the luggage and misplaced when we get home. Like the earrings from Hawaii, the ring from Singapore, the faberge pendant from Russia. I have such a lot of jewelry hidden away we may never find.”

  
“Well, the hotel has a couple of booklets about the tribes and folklore, I think,” said Jessica Grey. “I haven’t read them, but they have several behind the front desk, if you want to look them over. A very nice taxi driver took us around to some nice places, showed us the Palace, the Armory, the Jungle Patrol Headquarters. Your dad went off to see the navy and harbor, while I was in the hospital, and the train station and all that. They wouldn’t let him stay for some of the things, he was not very polite. But it got better after he met Milo.”

  
“My dad,” Sam confided to Morgan, “has pictures of railroad tracks. Not just trains, the tracks. He rode every train in New Zealand when we were there. We rode trains in Hawaii. You don’t want to know what a pain he was to the guys building the train in Greece.”


	29. Chapter 29

Their dinner went well, even the part where Sam told her parents about being pregnant. No one fainted, there was some drinking, but it was early enough not to matter much, and Sam and Morgan got to bed just after dusk. The light woke them and they felt much better and ready to go explore the town and such. Sam borrowed some books from the concierge about the history and ecology of Bengalla, and they went off to see the sights. They got a cab out to the horse central area Sam’s mom had mentioned and spent a few hours checking out the local horse scene. As it was morning, it was mostly the real horse folks that were there to talk to, not the owners and spectators.

  
Then they went for a tour of the capital city with their cabby, all cab drivers seeming to be tour guides as well as drivers. He noticed their interest in horses and history and told them a tall tale about the legendary ghost who haunted the country and jungle, who rode a giant horse and avenged the innocent of crimes. A guardian spirit, he insisted, not real, but the more superstitious interior tribes believed in the Ghost religiously. He let them off at the Bengalla History Museum, warning them to make the time to see the native art exhibit featuring the carvings of the Oogaan tribe.

  
Morgan and Sam took a break in the cafe on the Museum’s plaza, eating lunch and reading the two booklets Sam had toted around with her. The one on history also mentioned the Ghost of the Jungle, citing him as one of the immortals that Sam’s mother had told her there were rumors of. The ecology book intrigued Morgan with the diversity of exotic animals found in the country, especially the jungles. He had never even heard of okapis before, and was surprised that tigers lived in parts of the jungle. He had thought that those were strictly Indian and Asian animals. Rare even in the jungles, he read, and greatly feared by the herders of the plains. Morgan was glad they weren’t riding around the country on horseback now.

  
The museum did have some fine exhibits, and the wood carvings were amazing. Sam again noticed a mask motif, especially in guardian figures, from small to what had to have started out as a tree trunk. Most of the labels called them Phantom totems, to bring luck or good fortune. If you looked at all of them together they seemed to portray an idealized male with a mask and guns, wearing full body covering from head to toe. No hint of humor or touristy intent seemed evident, and with the prevalence of metas and mutants these days, it might be their local version.

  
“Got anyone in the Wayne family who came to Africa, doll?” Sam asked her husband as they prowled through the exhibit halls. “Seems to be someone in a mask with guns running around this country for over five centuries. No cape, but the mask and guns, heh, I know someone like that.”

  
“No, but five hundred years, can’t say I know the family history back that far,” shrugged Morgan. “Can’t have been much but native tribes and maybe a trading settlement back that far in the whole country. No reason for Waynes to be here that long ago. We tend to follow trade, money, seems like, that far back.”

  
“Seems to only have been legitimate trade, from what I can make out,” commented Sam as they strolled through the exhibits. “No slavery that I can see. Seems odd, most people practiced slavery at that time, and thought nothing of it. Not here, though. Look, this one, a sunken slave ship, before loading cargo. Too bad it didn’t happen elsewhere.”

  
“I always thought that if the horse hadn’t died out in North America, white folks would have had a much harder time getting a foothold. That always seemed to me to be the one lack of resource. Had corn, had minerals, had people, just no convenient way to get around. People in South America and Middle America knew how to work metals, but no one took the secret north or spread it. Had some folks here with some forward thinking, I guess. Heh, and no pirates or slavers would certainly boost your national identity levels early. Even the colonial types played nice here. Like New Zealand, you behave better when you find out that the natives are your equals.”

  
“Yeah, given how the Cheyanne and Sioux tribes took to horses, I doubt it would have taken much to turn the Americas into a civilization to reckon with by 1492,” agreed Morgan. “Got salt, iron, gold, meat, crops, solid population before the whites showed up. Nothing to stop them from real cities or even empires. No horse or wheel, though. Kinda sad.”

  
They had dinner with Sam’s parents again, this time at a very nice restaurant at a former plantation house. The food was superb and Morgan made sure to pick up the tab, as their cabby had mentioned this as one of the premier restaurants in the city. Sam’s father was very much looking forward to the train expedition and they all went to bed rather early to be ready. As this seemed to be nothing more than a tour trip, all Sam and Morgan took were their phones, though luggage spaces seem to be available and Sam’s parents took small bags in case they wanted to stay at the Jungle Hotel at the farthest point of the loop.

  
All went well for some hours as the train set off into the countryside, with scenic vistas of farms backed by mountains and green foothills of jungle and volcanic peaks. They went by a sandy stretch of what seemed to be a desert, or the edge of one, and at each town or city or village they stopped and either boarded or debarked passengers. An express this was not, agreed Calvin Grey as they ate together in the dining car. It was there that they were introduced to the famous Milo Otopo and his wife, who were riding in the same fancy car as Sam’s parents.

  
They made their way through a vast plain with teeming herds of wild animals visible in the distance, assured by their seatmates that eventually they would be much closer, possibly even a problem, when they became used to the train. This was the area that was designated a wild life preserve and strictly policed. Poachers, their seatmates assured them, were still hung in Bengalla. Not like South Africa or Rhodia, who had hardly any elephants or rhinos left, the girl, Alina Tosha told them with a snort of scorn.

  
It was as they were again approaching the jungle verges, nearing the place Sam’s mother wanted to see, that the train robbers struck. Four rather wild eyed young men, faces covered in bandanas and clutching a gun apiece, rose and started shouting at the passengers in the car. It took some time, with the shrieks and shouting to get the gist of what was going on, but Morgan snorted loudly to Sam, heard by almost everyone.

  
“Amateurs.”

  
“Hon, don’t go giving them tips,” said Sam, at his growl. “Just let ‘em go on their merry way to the hoosegow.”

  
“But, Sam, this is the most slap dash train robbery I ever saw,” said Morgan, eye closing in a wink where the gunmen couldn’t see it, but Sam and their seatmates could. “I did better the first time I took a train, and I was twelve. These guys, they haven’t even got a clue.”

  
“Hey, you, who you callin’ slap dash?” shouted one young man, having apparently dressed like some kind of cowboy for some reason. “We got guns, we’re in control, now everyone hand over your money and cell phones.”

  
“You, are who I’m callin’ slap dash, sonny,” said Morgan with a growl, standing up from his seat. “You are robbin’ a train. Trains only go one way, and they all have radios, and everyone here has a cell phone. Do you have an escape plan that includes a helicopter, cause that’s the only way you get away with this. And if you can afford a helicopter, what are you robbin’ a train for? No one carries cash anymore, phones are traceable, you’re in the wrong car for jewelry, and that gun sucks.”

  
“What makes you an expert?” whined the boy, backing away from Morgan as he stood to his full height. His friends glanced nervously at the pair from further back down the car. “I’m the one with the gun, and it works fine.”

  
“Kid, I’ve done a lot of things in my day, but I’m still here cause I planned them. I’m also retired with money in the bank, so, obviously I didn’t get caught like you’re gonna. Cyber crime is what you should be doing these days, that’s where the money is, not piddly little holdups,” said Morgan, making sure the others were looking at him, not the passengers or Sam. “What did you plan to do, jump off the moving train or wait until the next stop? What about the other cars, your loot, such as it might be? And that there gun is rusty, not to mention an antique. I thought guns were easy to get in this country.”

  
“This is my daddy’s gun,” spluttered the now thoroughly flustered boy. “It’s a genuine pistol from the Old West, just like all the famous outlaws used. My great grand dad was Billy the Kid.”

  
“Hah, Billy the Kid didn’t have no offspring, kid,” laughed Morgan. “You do kinda put me in mind of Sam Bass, ‘ceptin’ he was good at robbin’ trains.”

  
“Hon, we’re on vacation,” reminded Sam, having moved out to the aisle of their seat. “Let’s just give the little kids the phones and let ‘em be on their way. Too many other folks to have any shooting.”

  
“See, kid, I could take that gun from you, shoot your friends, then leave the local cops to take care of the remains,” Morgan told the kid, now too close to reasonably threaten the retired outlaw. “But my wife wants no drama, no attention, see? But, dangit, kid, you just give banditos a bad name the way you’re doin’ things.”

  
“Well, do what I say or I’ll shoot her!” exclaimed the boy, shifting his aim toward Sam. There was a flurry of motion and Morgan had the gun and the boy was flat on his back in the train aisle.

  
“Don’t never point a gun at my wife, boy,” Morgan growled. “Last man what done it is dead. Count yerself lucky it was me took ya down, she’d’ve hurt yuh. Now, the rest of yuh yahoos wanna put the guns down slowly, or do yuh wanna see if I still got an eye for this kinda Texas tea party?”

  
The growl of the Masked Rider was the voice of command, honed over the years of trailing desperados while being hunted himself. The other three carefully put their guns down and Sam collected them all and with some seating changes, put the four in a seating area opposite her watchful eye. None of the guns passed the exacting standards of the retired outlaw, and he pointed out their flaws to the four failed train robbers and the interested folks around them.

  
“This one, here, like to blow up as fire a bullet,” he told them, holding it carefully. “And this one here, the reason they don’t make ‘em anymore is that they take a lot of care and cleaning to shoot straight, and you aint cleaned this one for a while. This one, careful Sam, if you drop it, it usually goes off. Take the bullets out of all of ‘em, careful like, and we’ll all stand a better chance of gettin’ off at the next stop.”

  
“Train robbin’ in this day and age is stupid, boys,” the outlaw told them. “Gonna have a bunch of lawmen waiting for yuh at the next stop. Trains only go one way, and gettin’ off ‘em while they’re movin’ is dangerous, even if you got a good horse or a vehicle to do it with. In the old days, no one could tell stations if someone jumped on and robbed ‘em, but now they got radios and telephones and such. I bet you half the folks in this here car already live streamed it and the other half called the law. And to top it off, yuh went and interrupted me and my wife’s sight seein’. Not sure she’ll forgive yuh for that, she loves animals and new places.”

  
“Uh, how do you know all this?” managed one of the other boys, not their leader, who was still rather woozy and had a very sore mouth, having bit his tongue when Morgan hit him. “I mean, that all makes perfect sense, but you sound like you’ve done this sort of thing. Are you a commando or something? Mercenary or black ops, maybe?”

  
“I can’t tell you that, kid,” said Morgan with a smile. “Retired, though. Now, what makes you four decide to go train robbin’? Ain’t carryin’ gold or pay chests or mail, like the old days. Tourists, like us, we don’t carry cash these days. Remember what they say about banks, yuh rob ‘em ‘cause that’s where the money is.”

  
“Yeah, well, that was the plan, getting practice here then moving on to banks,” admitted one of the four, looking sheepish. “But the way you talk, we might as well be little kids playing cowboys. I kinda think that was what got us started off, Billy’s stories about Old West outlaw heroes.”

  
“Most of those outlaws were killers, with no socialization skills at all,” Morgan told them seriously. “Kids those days often ended up on their own right early, or worse, taken in by someone treated ‘em bad. Billy the Kid, he was what would be called a psychopath these days. He shot a blacksmith once, and you just don’t do that. Sam Bass, he had some smarts, some luck, but he was not what you could call socially balanced, either. Most outlaws were greedy, lazy and bullies. Ordinary folk hated ‘em, but the press and the news was always ready to sensationalize folks back then, and made ‘em heroes to some. Mostly to folks who would have done the same, but were too afraid to get up on their hind legs and dance. All those old outlaws ended up dead, remember.”

  
“Not that Masked Rider guy,” said one thoughtfully. “But he wasn’t really a bad man. He was kinda more an undercover cop. Wrote a good book, that was sure. You’re right, though, he wouldn’t have done it this way, and he would have had another motive, too.”

  
“Man, we are in so much trouble,” sighed the smallest of the four, a sandy haired kid with darker skin and light eyes. “Even if we don’t get jail time, my dad will ground me for life.”

  
“Just as well you didn’t take any shots, then,” Sam told them, having extracted all the bullets from the relics they had been toting. “Will look better to the authorities. Such as the ones I think I see up ahead at the station. Who is law enforcement here, local police or Jungle Patrol?”

  
“Jungle Patrol, since this is Nawahi,” said a passenger helpfully. “I talked to a sergeant and they will be sending someone to get the gang and we’re to all stay in our seats. After they get off, we can get off or not. Can’t say about you two, though.”


	30. Chapter 30

As Morgan had guessed, there were several records of what had gone on, and only a brief statement was needed from the two of them. The four would-be train robbers left in handcuffs, guns in one sack, bullets in another, off to the local Jungle Patrol outpost. Once back in their seats, they were everyone’s favorite people, and sharp eyed locals made sure they saw anything of note outside for pictures. Alina Tosha insisted they have pieces of her grandmother’s bread that she had saved for an afternoon snack and other folks on their car told them tales about the area they were now going through, the jungle’s edge.

It looked much like parts of Kauai to Sam’s eyes, more open than she would have thought a jungle to be.

“This is where my dad’s family came from,” Alina told them, pointing at the tree shaded village they had just passed. “Toshabi tribe, and my mom is Mori. Used to be a lot of poaching in this area, white hunters thinking there was no law, no one to stop them. My dad says those guys always ended up regretting it. The Ghost Who Walks lets the locals, tribes and villagers hunt, not outsiders, and especially not poachers. Food is different from skins, tusks or trophies. I know city people say it’s a myth, superstition, but my dad saw him once, in the shadows on his horse. My grand dad on my mom’s side saw him when he was a boy, in the Mori waters off the coast. I’ve never seen him, but I’ve never seen Chicago, either, and that’s real.”

“Just because you can’t or don’t see it, doesn’t make it not true,” agreed Sam, glad the windows opened so that she wouldn’t have glass reflections on her pictures. “Germs, those things in your computer or cell phone, car engines, what ever it is they do in the kitchen at good restaurants, you don’t see that either. Wonder if the guy really is immortal, like the story says. Must be, if you got family that old says he saw the guy. As I know a few very odd people, I can’t say it’s not true.”

“Some of us in Bengalla like to think that we were always ahead of the curve with the meta superhero thing,” said their other seat mate, a young man who called himself Tono. “What is the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks but our own superhero? It’s everyone else that’s late to that party.”

“By at least four hundred years!” agreed Alina, fist bumping him. It appeared from their talk that they were going to the same university. “Of course, the colonial folks never believed in him, but if some officious sort tried to put one over on the natives, he got a rude awakening. Colonialism sat lighter here than other parts of Africa, mostly, we think, because he had them scared of him. They say he’s white, what you can see of his face and hands, but that doesn’t matter much, as long as he’s been here. I guess five hundred years is enough to be considered a full Bengallan citizen.”

“There’s stories,” Tono told them, with some nods from around them, “that he sometimes comes to the cities, or towns dressed like an ordinary man, even goes out into the rest of the world, at need. But everyone knows he really lives in the Deep Woods, the heart of the Jungle, in the Skull Cave, with the secretive Bandar pygmy tribe. No one goes there, because the pygmy tribe use poison arrows and don’t like big people. But my tribe, the Llongo, see him now and then, so my uncle tells me.”

“It’s said, at least by some,” added one of the other passengers hanging over their seat back, “that the President knows him. My cousin works at the Presidential Palace and says they had his horse in the garden for a couple of hours once. Orders were not to touch the horse, but some of the people in the kitchen gave him carrots.”

“Sam, that sounds like just the kind of guy you end up making friends with,” laughed Morgan. “Just don’t get shot this time. Hard on my nerves when you get shot.”

“You got shot?” asked Alina, round eyed. “I knew America was dangerous, but you don’t seem the type to get shot! What happened? Oh, Mr. Wayne here mentioned that someone who pointed a gun at you got killed, didn’t he?”

An edited version of the Grand Canyon incident entertained the entire car until their next stop. As this was the site of the famous Jungle Hotel, a place called Djeta, Sam and Morgan got off and met up with the Grays. It was warm, but shady, tall trees and vines were everywhere behind the place, a solidly built lodge sort of building, with lawns and grassy areas sloping down to a meandering stream that had several ponds. Beyond the ponds lay the wide veldt like expanse of the national park. They all four went over to the hotel to see if there was a reason to stay overnight.

Sam gaped at the lobby of the place. It was as if a palace had been shoehorned into a cabin. Jessica Grey smiled and went right over to the front desk. In moments she had a room key and had left her overnight bag with a maid to be sent up to their room. Sam shrugged and raised an eyebrow at Morgan, who grinned and ambled over to the same flawlessly dressed, severely attentive desk man. He returned with a room key and a suggestion for a place to get clean clothes.

“How you feel about the outfits the local gals are wearing?” he asked, as several local women passed by in colorful sarongs, sandals and head scarves. “Got a golf shop and a place sells ‘safari’ rags, and some kinda formal wear place. All about dressing for dinner with that guy.”

“Oh, just a shirt and shorts for tonight,” decided Sam, as they strolled out onto the vast veranda of the place. “Ah, like that there, I think. Not that you can ride in that, but okay for dinner.”

“That how you pick your clothes, Sam?” laughed Morgan as they went into a little shop selling women’s clothing. “If you can ride in ‘em?”

“Mostly,” admitted Sam, grinning at her husband. “Hasn’t steered me wrong yet, ‘cause if you can ride in ‘em, you can fight in ‘em. You know how it is, hon, I like to be prepared.”

After a brief sojourn through some interesting shops, they wore somewhat more formal outfits for dinner, and sat down to dine in the twilight on the hotel veranda with Sam’s parents. Nothing was said about the train robbers, and Sam hoped her mother didn’t find out about it until after she was back where there was a hospital. A small tour office had caught her eye and Sam intended to take a little day trip into the jungle to see a dig site at an ancient city the next day. Morgan had no objection, and they had signed up and got their gear for the short trip. It was, to Sam’s slight disappointment, to be a trip by jeep, not horseback, but it was apparently a state sponsored dig.

Jessica Grey was quite taken with the place, their room, the staff assured her, was the Royal Suite, taking up the front half of the third floor. Sam had her work cut out for her, researching the site they were to go visit, as the wi-fi was quite slow, being satellite fed. The room they had was quite nice, probably sound proof and had a very nice bed. Sam and Morgan tested that part of the room quite thoroughly.

Breakfast included a visit on the veranda dining area by a giraffe, who was apparently expected, as everyone had carrots on their tables to feed her. Sam’s parents waved them off and settled in for a day of dalliance, light shopping and snacking, much more of what Sam expected from her mother.

Morgan and Sam rode in the same jeep, taking back seat and shotgun up a bumpy track into the jungle. Two other jeeps went too, only theirs having tourists, the others carrying supplies and a couple of guards.


	31. Chapter 31

“It is a jungle,” reminded their guide, a young lady named Towanda Mwelu. “Still got cats and snakes and the odd buffalo. Not going to shoot anything that doesn’t attack us, but you have to be prepared. Most of the wildlife is cool with us on the track here, but no chances, you know?”

  
“So, this dig is part of the University system, then?” asked Sam, as they climbed a hill around a huge fallen tree. “And the site is from the Ethiopian empire period? Axum, I think it was, in the time of the late Roman Empire, about. Nominally Christian, I think and very big sea traders. Would have thought them more likely to be closer to the coast, if I was looking for them.”

  
“One of the questions the dig is trying to answer,” agreed Towanda cheerfully, negotiating a slippery section of road easily. “You know your stuff, I see. Are you a researcher or archeologist yourself? And what do you do, Mr. Wayne?”

  
“I do whatever Sam wants me to do,” laughed Morgan. “And if she wants to go look at people dig in dirt and trudge through jungle to do it, that’s what I do. I’m actually retired, these days, after coming into money. Enough to let Sam do whatever she wants, and go along with her to watch her back.”

  
“And I do have a degree in anthropology, emphasis on archeology,” nodded Sam in agreement. “I write the odd article and book, but this is just too good an opportunity to pass up. San Diego has nothing more than a few places about two centuries old and a few indian sites. I know that there are people in England who have clothes older than that. I’m looking forward to stopping in Egypt on the way back. Is there any sign of Egyptian influence in this site?”

  
“Oh, I just drive people up and back,” laughed Towanda, brushing aside a butterfly seemingly set on landing on her face. “And do the food and the guards and stuff. My college courses are medical. This is my job this semester while I study for my anatomy test. You could pretty much whack me on the head with an Egyptian artefact and if I didn’t see it in Raiders of the Lost Ark, I wouldn’t recognize it. The dig crew, though, they’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”

  
“And do you ever see the Ghost, the Phantom?” asked Morgan, looking around with interest as they passed through a clearing. “We got told all about him yesterday on the train. Seems like just the sort of place to see him, from what they said.”

  
“No, you don’t see the Phantom unless there’s trouble,” said Towanda reluctantly. “You don’t want to see him. He shows up when there’s poachers, bad men, terrorists, drug runners, these days. Was he a real person, he’d probably be watching out for Rhodian terrorists or something. Any trouble here, probably a broken coffee maker.”

  
“Well, no, we probably don’t want to see him, then,” agreed Sam, taking a picture of a colorful bird as they passed. “Got way too much excitement on this trip already. I just want to talk shop with someone about side walls and pottery sherds. Maybe get my hands dirty doing some screening, if they think I’m qualified. Ooh, what kind of bird is that?”

  
They got to the dig site at about nine, local time, and were astonished at how much growth had been cut back from the ruins, much more than had shown in the brochure. A few tents at one side, near a stone plaza seemed to be the camp and several sweaty young people were waiting to greet them. They introduced themselves as Dita Noburi and Ken Hausa, students at the University of Mawitaan, and their guides at the site, as the two full fledged archeologists were doing the digging at one of the ruined palaces.

  
“We are doing clearing,” sighed Dita, picking up her heavy gloves. “I had hoped to learn more than glorified gardening this year. Not that it doesn’t need to be done, but all us students get to see of real archeology is what Professor Petros and Doctor Lewis let us see that they’ve dug up. Oh, we sometimes get to clean whatever it is.”

  
“Pats on the head for finding new stuff, though,” reminded Ken, a very light skinned fellow with a broad brimmed hat. “If I had read any of their papers, what they keep talking about might make more sense, I guess. So, do either of you have any background in archeology?”

  
“Well, can’t say much about anything but American Indian stuff,” said Morgan, with a grin. “Can cut brush with the best of ‘em, though. Now, Sam, she’s all papered and everything. Even published some things. So go on and give us the straight stuff, not the tourist pablum, pardner.”

  
“Oh, well, okay,” said Dita, perking up. “Well, the survey said that this was late Ethiopian, an Axumite trade outpost, and probably built for defenses against the local tribes. Once we started clearing brush and digging, it became obvious that the site was much older, probably Kushite, then Meroe, before Axum. It might even be one of those places that Egypt named Punt, and had brief trade relations with, way back in the Eighteenth Dynasty.”

  
“Well, why haven’t I read all about that in Archeology Today, yet?” exclaimed Sam, with an excited look on her face. “Hatshepsut’s expedition to Punt is still a huge question in the business. Oh, wait, didn’t someone mention that there is a tribe of pygmies in this area? Yes, it could be the place! Oh, you guys are gonna be so famous.”

  
“Not for actually doing anything,” sighed Ken, leading them up a set of crumbled but still recognizable stairs. “I want to do actual digging, we all do, but nothing gets done without the doc or the prof allowing it. I don’t think we would mess up an artifact, none of us would, but they act like they need to take each individual grain of sand away from the excavation with tweezers.”

  
“Dang, I can see that this place is a hodgepodge of stuff,” said Sam, looking around as they walked deeper into the ancient city. Nothing seemed intact enough to be in danger of toppling over, but they walked down what had once been wide avenues. “That does look kind of monumental, like the Ethiopian empires favored, but that over there is definitely the style of pyramid the Kush and Meroe imperiums favored. And is that a fallen obelisk? Dang, you don’t need two archeologists, you guys need to move a school out here. This place could make you guys doctorates in a year, the way it looks. Who’s taking photos? And has anyone talked to National Geographic yet? Have you found burials, or just the city? Place this big, those cultures, gotta have a necropolis.”

  
“Doctor Lewis and Professor Petros are working on a place that they call the Temple,” offered Dita, pointing at a large, mostly white jumble of stone, the pieces looking a bit as if they had once been pillars. “It seems to me that they should have cleared away more of the outside before going in there, but that is where they’re digging. They don’t like to say much about what they find, but I saw a glint of gold, once, when they were both head down over their table one night.”

  
“That doesn’t seem right,” frowned Morgan, familiar with the hold that gleaming metal often exerted over the most staid of men. “Ain’t you here to learn? Aren’t these folks teachers?”

  
“None of us have ever had a field study unit before,” admitted Ken, as they stopped at a sort of threshold of the ruined but still impressive building. “And none of us, including all the other five students still hacking away at trees and bushes, have ever had classes with these professors. But Doctor Lewis has been running this dig for three years now, and Professor Petros is here on a grant from Stanford University in America.”

  
“Professor! Doctor,” called Dita, into the gloom of the building site. A pit could be discerned in the floor to one side of a massive slab of rock with inscriptions in what was not demotic or hieroglyphic script, to Sam’s eye. “We have visitors! Can you come out and give them the tour?”

  
“Don’t let on Sam has a degree,” Morgan told them quietly. “It’s only an MA and she’s only been able to dig stuff in San Diego, not real archeology like you guys here.”

  
Sam heard this and threw him a look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking, and that she approved. After a few moments, two rough looking characters emerged from the pit, seeming a bit disgruntled at the interruption. Sam knew how digging in small spaces, with no air circulation, could affect you, but these guys looked more like bouncers than archeologists. Nevertheless, they both shook hands and made introductions like civilized folks.

  
“And can you tell us what you are finding here at this Temple?” asked Morgan, waving a hand at the place. “Islamic, Christian, Jewish, Pagan? I can’t say it looks much different than the other ruins around here.”

  
“Pagan,” grunted the portly Lewis, and if he was a doctor of anything, Sam was WitchQueen of Angmar. “Trying to find the floor of the temple originally here. What you see was built over an older building, much of it Egyptian. Found a passage, we think, and are trying to follow it.”

  
“And what is this inscription, then?” asked Sam, looking at the stele, phone angled to get it all in frame. “Not Egyptian?”

  
“No, later, probably Axumite,” said the professor, a thinner, more vulpine character. “I haven’t the translation handy, but refers to ancestor worship and the like, several pagan deities. Nothing to indicate the original god the place was built for.”

  
“And have you found any interesting artifacts or burials?” asked Morgan, seeing that in spite of close quarters, both men were armed, while the students were not. Wouldn’t it be better to arm people who were cutting up jungle patches than those down in a hole digging? “We’re off to Egypt after this trip, so we have been doing our reading. No one got buried in temples, as I recall, just across the river. Still, might be some fine statues or things like that. Way better than out our way. Painted pots and bowls and prayer sticks, mostly, in the Southwest.”

  
“Have you dated the last occupation, the surface one?” asked Sam as they strolled toward a big open platform, paved in stone that still seemed fairly even. “Could at least work back from that.”

  
“Oh, not carbon dated, lab is rather backed up,” humphed Lewis, as they came to another stele. “Pottery seems about 800 AD, and the trade around here was good, apparently. Iron smelters over there, workshops over that way, markets and palace back the way you came, near camp. We were hoping for some indication of Kushite habitation.”

  
The talk continued like that for some while, until lunch, when all the college students came back into camp, and Towanda served out lunches packed by the Hotel to Sam and Morgan, and the rest ate sandwiches and drank sodas or beer. Sam looked over at her husband as she finished her food and tidied up the trash. He raised an eyebrow at her and she nodded just a bit.

  
Morgan eyed the holstered pistols on the ‘teachers’ ‘ hips, and wished for his own rig, or even just one of Sam’s guns. He had noted Sam’s questions and her ability to get the men to incriminate themselves. Now, what was her play? Confront them, figuring on help from the pretty fit college students? Take them herself? It seemed an elaborate plot, if they were just after buried artefacts that might or might not exist. Did they have a map or something to go on? Could they just go back to the Hotel and inform the Jungle Patrol of this little fraud?

  
“So, can we help you guys hack some bushes this afternoon?” asked Sam of the college students, as if no suspicion had crossed her innocent little mind. “I’m passable with a machete, not too bad with a shovel or saw. Only got married to Morgan a few months ago, so I don’t know how well he does that kind of thing. Rides his horse really well, but I carry a machete when I ride, for trail maintenance. If I can’t do any digging, maybe I can help with chopping.”

  
Morgan felt some relief that Sam wasn’t going to try to take both armed men herself. The students were probably the reason, and he went along with the idea willingly. Soon they were traipsing out with Dita and Ken to trim back brush and chop down trees. The two fraudulent teachers went back to their hole, apparently suspecting nothing. Towanda sat in the shade of the camp and read Grey’s Anatomy, notebook in hand.

  
“So, Dita, Ken,” said Sam, as soon as they were out of sight and earshot of the two men, “neither of you, or any of the other students ever had a class with either of these guys? Ever seen ‘em around the Anthropology Building?”

  
“No, but I think that’s because they’re field study guys,” said Ken, stopping by a half chopped tree.

  
“Nope, it’s because they’re not professors or doctors,” said Sam, certain of it. “They don’t even have a close approximation of their timelines worked out. I never met a real archeologist that wouldn’t bore you to tears with pottery fragments and time lines. They know just enough to be pothunters, not enough to be real amateurs. They’re here for treasure, and those guns are the only reason I didn’t make an issue of it. Too bad those other jeeps went back after unloading the supplies. Those guys had guns. Towanda has one, but I don’t think Morgan can get it fast enough.”

  
“What, you think those guys are frauds?” asked Dita, hands on her hips in outrage. “No wonder they haven’t been letting us dig!”

  
“They’re down in that pit of theirs right now, we could take Towanda’s gun and arrest them,” suggested Ken, uncertain of what to do. “I doubt that they’ll hear us until we’re right there. What could they want that they could find here? I know there are tales of Nubian gold and Axumite coins and that kind of thing, but you don’t leave that kind of thing laying around. It would have to be buried with some high official, and most of those would be taken home to their empires.”

  
“That would be my take,” shrugged Sam, taking up a nicely balanced machete. “I wonder what happened to the real field teachers? How long you guys been doing this with these two?”

  
“Here for two months now, every day cutting brush and chopping trees, maybe a little light conservation of walls or paving, nothing you’d really call surveying, even,” grunted Dita as she swung an ax at the half cut tree trunk. “Kind of wonder where the real field prof is, now. I’ve been taking pix with my phone, trying to document the place, but I never see either of them do anything like that. I don’t ever recall notes being made or anything. Sad, since this is probably a really important site.”

  
“I would have thought lidar would have been more useful than chopping down all the trees,” said Sam, trimming back a liana from a rock wall. The moss covering the wall almost obscured the glyphs that edged it. “Hmm, Axumite. Late era, probably Christian. Another reason I knew they were blowing smoke. Ezana converted, and with him the whole nation, that was 300 AD, or so. I did my homework before coming on this little jaunt.”

  
“Well, do we just go along with this fraud, and report them when we get back, or do we try to do something about it now?” asked Morgan, thinking he might be able to get Towanda’s gun if he was careful and sneaky. Or Sam could take them both, if she got close enough. The large size of the two worried him, they looked a lot tougher than he thought professors should. Still, letting them do whatever they were doing, to what was a really unique site, that obviously bothered Sam, and the students. Since it bothered Sam, it irked him, too.

  
“Well, if opportunity presents itself,” mused Sam, grunting as she hauled the liana away from the wall, “I think we should do something. But I don’t want to get any of you students hurt. You’ll all be writing books about this place someday!”

  
The four of them cleared quite a bit of what looked to Sam like a former storehouse, and near five headed back to camp. Scratched and dirty and sweaty, Sam was glad to have her tougher gear on, leather tennies, thick socks, no longer white, tan lycra leggings, sportsbra and grey t-shirt. Morgan actually looked neater, as he had on long sleeves and pants in tan tropicals, his hat a straw affair that still looked like a cowboy hat on him.

  
At the camp, Towanda looked up and put away her book to get ready to go back to the Hotel. The two burly ‘teachers’ came back as well, hauling a large ceramic pot on a makeshift travois, looking quite happy. The students gathered around and questioned the two about the object, obviously very heavy.

  
“What is it, Doctor?” asked one of the other students, Suliman, Sam thought it was. “What’s in it? Do you need help? Can you read the runes on the side?”

  
“Probably just a wine jar,” said Professor Lewis, as the fitter Doctor Petros manhandled the jar toward their tent. “Wine gone to vinegar, at best, but still sealed. Must be careful, get samples, all that.”

  
“Yes, probably temple wine, you know,” Doctor Petros said, grunting with effort as he rolled the jar toward their tent. “Hidden away from profane eyes since the time of Julius Caesar. Too bad it will have gone off. Plenty to pass around and still analyze, else.”

  
At that point, in full view of everyone, the jar slipped out of his hands, crashed on the pavement and released a torrent of jewels and gold. Shocked, the students stood dumbfounded, as sparkly things poured onto the flagstones through the cracked pottery. Thick, well fired, Sam estimated it to be far younger than the suggested age, and was not at all surprised by the treasure trove. She was surprised to find Towanda holding them all at gunpoint, however.


	32. Chapter 32

“You idiots,” she hissed at the two ‘teachers’ in anger. “Pick all that stuff up and put it in the crates. Now we have to get rid of all these people. Go on, get moving, if you hurry, we can be out of the country by tomorrow. Move it, you fools, you only have so much daylight.”

  
The two men hurriedly started packing the gems and gold into several crates, without any kind of sorting or care, and putting the crates in two jeeps that they had had parked by their tents, and the white hotel jeep. Apparently they had been prepared for this. Towanda now looked like a very capable criminal mastermind, gun on all the students and both Sam and Morgan. Sam looked her over and reluctantly decided she was too far away for now.

  
“You gonna shoot us all, Ms. Towanda?” asked Morgan, his drawl back, as most of the students, tools still in hand still hadn’t quite made out what was happening. “I mean, now you got your treasure, and mean to get out of the country with it, why kill us? You just take the jeeps and it’ll take us at least a day to get back to the Hotel. Sure enough of a start for someone who planned this for so long.”

  
“He’s right, boss,” grunted one of her henchmen, heaving a crate into the tour jeep. “Tie ‘em up and it’ll take ‘em even longer. Might get eaten by something, but that’s not your fault then, see? Cleaner, like.”

  
“Alright, just hurry up, then,” sighed Towanda. “I want to be at the coast by tomorrow night. No one should be able to find us by then. And then we’ll be set for life, boys.”

  
The two men did the tying up, never bothering to search anyone first, and soon drove away, following Towanda, if that was her name, down the road toward the Hotel. Sam and Morgan were out of their ropes before the dust had settled in the near darkness, experienced enough to tense muscles that made the ropes loose. They set the others free and wondered aloud if they should try to follow on foot. Sam whipped out her cell phone and called the number the nice Jungle Patrolman had given her the day before. One of the students looked around and spotted a hollow tree trunk by the camp. He took up a pair of axes and headed for the thing with an intent look in his eyes.

  
“Yes, I don’t know what their real names are, but they have several crates of gold and gems stolen from a dig site right in front of us,” Sam told the officer urgently. “They mean to make it to the coast and apparently leave the country with what looked like about a hundred and fifty pounds of gold, jewels, uncut stones, from a site near the Hotel. Masquerading as a tour guide and two professorial types, yes.”

  
“No, don’t worry about us, we’re fine. Catch those pot hunting bastards,” said Sam after a moment. “I know how to get back on my own two feet, if we must. Thank you, and please let us know if you catch them, Lt. Gorna.”

  
The thunder of ax heads on the hollow trunk suddenly rumbled through the clearing as blunt sides acted like huge drumsticks. A young man with the look of a tribal native, Hurnot, Sam thought it was, was beating the complex rhythms of something on the great trunk. The sound was pervasive, felt in the feet of the students and tourists as they stood in the dark. It was not actually music, thought Sam, listening, but, oh, code. Not Morse, maybe more complex, but code. To who?

  
“Well, might as well eat,” sighed Morgan, lighting the lanterns, and getting a good look at the place the jar had shattered. Several sparkles showed and they were carefully picked up and put on the camp table, conversation points for dinner.

  
“Caitlin,” said Sam, on her second call, “ you guys anywhere near Bengalla?”

  
“Oh, just got in a little scrap with some treasure hunters, took some stuff and left us tied up in a camp in the jungle. No, we’re fine, no one shot this time. Ah, you know how I hate pothunters. Just got three of ‘em, a girl and two guys, but us with no guns and some college students who didn’t want to be perforated. Yeah, who’d a thought it of me?”

  
“Oh, she can? That would be cool, thanks. Yeah, that much sparkly stuff, pretty sure it belongs to someone, and not those three. Two kinda grungy jeeps and a white one says Hotel Tours on it. Yeah, thanks.”

  
“So, Hurnot, who’d _you_ call?” asked Sam, taking a piece of the treasure and turning it back and forth in the lamplight. “I called Jungle Patrol and then some, ah, special friends about catching those bastards. You sure didn’t call anyone to say wish you were here.”

  
“Actually, I kinda did,” shrugged the slim young black man. “I sent word to my tribe that the hiding place of the Jungle Olympic treasure had been found and it has been stolen. I did not know that it was here, but those three must have known. They will be caught. All the jungle knows they have it, now. _He_ knows.”

  
“Might want to call your parents, Sam,” suggested Morgan, settling back with a cup of coffee. “Ain’t gonna make it back tonight, if I’m any judge.”

  
“And what did you mean on that last call about having no one shot this time?” asked Dita. “You make phone calls to people who get shot?”

  
“No, I got shot last time,” said Sam, a frown on her face. “Morgan and my friends hauled my butt out and got me fixed up. Hand to hand, I can take anyone, but guns, sorry, not bullet proof. And I first met Morgan, here, when he was bleeding out after a shoot out. Don’t like guns, but I can use ‘em.”

  
“Oh, tell us that story, then,” said several eager voices, “that sounds like an adventure.”

  
Morgan told them a suitably edited, but fairly accurate version of the Grand Canyon Gold expedition, and promised to see about a grant of some kind for the excavation, as surely most of this season had been lost.

  
“And the guys you talked to are gonna keep a watch out for the pothunters?” asked Ken, puzzled. “I thought you said they have a helicopter? Helicopters don’t fly across oceans, do they? Oh, maybe they have a different plane, too? Or they just have satellite access, maybe?”

  
“Caitlin has a magic helicopter,” nodded Morgan, “a pretty, magic helicopter, who can talk, fly herself and turn invisible. And blow up stuff, and fly really fast, and knows all kinds of stuff. But I think getting across an ocean might be too much in just a day.”

  
“Oh, didn’t I mention,” said Sam with a laugh. “They have an op in Somalia right now and will be by here sometime tomorrow. Milady helicopter says she’ll call.”

  
“Oh, you’re just making stuff up, now,” snorted Suliman, grinning. “I know better stories about the Ghost Who Walks than that. My great grandfather knew him. I bet he heard the drum message first hand, he doesn’t live far from here. The Deep Woods are only a couple days away.”

  
“Well, then, tell _us_ some stories,” grinned Morgan. “If he’s going after those three, he’ll need a really fast horse, or maybe his own plane. Milady and Caitlin and String are fast enough, if they can spot the thieves.”

  
“Well, who could be calling me at this hour?” asked Sam as her phone whinnied at her, making the students laugh. “Oh, the Jungle Patrol, maybe? Yes, this is Sam.”

  
“Um, let’s see, youngish lady, called herself Towanda Mwelu, but no idea if that’s her real name. The other two looked rather thuggish, kind of like boxers or bouncers, tough but one was kind of rounder, pretty sure their names weren’t doctor or professor, Petrus or Lewis. They were the muscle, she was the boss. Two jeeps, grungy and kinda greenish, one white and says Hotel tours on it. Jewels and such in crates in the jeeps, all three armed, only pistols that I saw. Probably went back by the Jungle Hotel, as I never saw any other roads when we were on it. Left us here just at sunset. Making for the coast, didn’t say where, exactly. Uh, I have a friend coming to help find them, if you need eyes in the sky. And a really good communications snoop. Who? not on an open line, thanks. Just don’t shoot at my friends, please.”

  
“And who was that?” asked Morgan, pretty sure it hadn’t been Lt. Gorna.

  
“Uh, well, seems your Ghost does listen to the news, Hurnot,” said Sam. “I didn’t get a name, just a really authoritative voice. Sat phone, from the sound, and on a running horse. I know that sound well. Don’t know as I’ve ever tried phoning from a running horse, but I know the way it sounds.”

  
“Tricky at speed,” agreed Morgan, thinking about times he’d had to reload while racing Midnight after some varmint, or fleeing, usually the law. “This Ghost feller have a fast horse, Hurnot? I used to think my horse was fast, ‘til I met Sam’s mare.”


	33. Chapter 33

Much of the evening was spent listening to tales of the Phantom that the students could vouch for themselves. Some were very old tales, others were quite recent. Suliman was not native Bengallan, but a refugee from Somalia, his family saved from renegade soldiers by the Ghost Who Walks, led to safety over two days through war torn country.

  
“Did his voice seem calm, but deep, like the mountains speaking?” asked Suliman, remembering. “I recall that voice when I feel worried, and it calms me. I am here because I owe him my life, and this is his country. So it is my country. I would do anything he asked of me, and this happens right under my nose!”

  
“Don’t let it get to you, Suliman,” advised Sam. “This site is important. Not the jewels, and stuff, that means different stuff. Historians are gonna want to know about this place. One of the mysteries of Egypt is the location of Punt, the place that traded exotic stuff with Hatshepsut, eighteenth dynasty. This is surely one of the best possibilities I’ve seen in a long time. You prove it, you’ve made your names in the business and beyond. No problem with publishing, National Geographic should be here in less than a year, I’d bet. The big schools in Germany and England and the States will be begging to send people, and money, count on it.”

  
“What, the Eighteenth Dynasty?” said Dita, tapping her phone and looking up. “Fourteen hundred years BC? Nothing here is that old, surely.”

  
“Oh, maybe not buildings,” agreed Sam, as she recalled little of Africa at that age but Egypt. “But occupation sites, maybe. And the Kushite and Meroe stuff is pretty good indication that there was some kind of contact. Like Rome and China through the Silk Road. No one from Rome actually made it to China, but they heard stories, got trade goods, and things went both ways. It’s only modern humans don’t know where Punt was, Egyptians all knew, and Kush and Meroe were essentially part of Egypts dynastic system, so they knew.”

  
The next morning a Jungle Patrol jeep drove in to pick up the tourists and leave a man for purposes of protecting the students. The University was trying to find someone to take the place of the field studies teacher, especially as Sam had had a word or two about the importance of the site, historically and monetarily, with the Dean of Anthropology.

  
“We could have hiked out,” Morgan told the two remaining patrolmen, as they bounced off down the road toward the Hotel. “Didn’t need to come get us, really.”

  
“Ho ho, hiked out through the jungle without guns or other weapons?” laughed the older lady, a corporal. “Not this area. Known for big cats, not unknown to have cape buffalo, which are worse, and besides, orders. Orders from the top. No chances taken with the two of you, being involved in a train robbery attempt and an actual robbery of tribal treasures. No, orders are to get you back to the Jungle Hotel without further incident.”

  
“Oh, but that wasn’t our fault,” protested Sam with a bit of guilt. “We tried to be good, no shooting, I didn’t beat anyone up, didn’t even insult anyone. Really, on our best behavior, that’s us.”

  
“Ah, and is that normal, then?” asked the other, a slight young man with an earnest glance. He was watching the area around them with a rifle, aware of the dangers the edges of the jungle had. “Not beating anyone up and not shooting at anything, Miss?”

  
“Oh, happens, now and again,” replied Sam, truthfully, as Morgan snorted and tried not to snicker. “I just couldn’t take a chance on any of the students getting shot. But if they hadn’t been in danger, yes, those three wouldn’t have made it out of that camp, gun or no gun. I’m fast, I’m good and I hadn’t told anyone what kind of skills either of us have.”

  
“Guns aren’t usually allowed inside the jungle around here,” the corporal told them. “Special permission for the school, for the Patrol, but usually need an escort from one of the tribes to go anywhere in the deeper forests. Most of the tribes stick to traditional spears and such, and deadly enough not to need guns. Guns in the jungle get more trouble than safety, seems like.”

  
“So this treasure urn, the stuff the bad guys took,” said Sam thoughtfully, “that stuff all belongs to one tribe, or all the tribes? Hurnot told us it’s like a kind of rotating trophy for some kind of inter-tribal competition, and the winners have to keep it for the next years games. Someone decided to bury it here, I guess, and then someone else found out and decided to dig it up. I wasn’t clear on if there was ownership or stewardship.”

  
“Stewardship, mostly,” said the corporal, who looked as if she might be invisible in the night, she was so dark. “But it’ll come back. Hurnot will keep the bits they left safe, if nothing else. I think Dwezi tribe won last year, so they’ll be on the hunt, too. Not that every tribe this side of the Misty Mountains isn’t on the lookout. Mori probably has boats watching every inch of the coast. We’ll get it back.”

  
Back at the Hotel, they first took long showers and cleaned up, then met Sam’s parents on the veranda, and had lunch, a leisurely, elegant affair with the occasional passing wildlife, including one persistently optimistic warthog. Apparently a fixture at midday meals, the ugly creature had learned several tricks to get guests to toss him tidbits. A waitress admitted that he was hand raised by staff and allowed to live under the veranda, and the territorial creature kept other creatures away.

  
Sam and Morgan took a stroll out beyond hearing range and got on the phone with Caitlin, to see what was going on with the hunt for the thieves. Sam was rather surprised to be hooked in with both pilots, Dom and the Lady herself, as well as that deep voice from the night before that was probably the Ghost Who Walks.

  
“Hey, Sam,” said Caitlin, seeming not quite as chipper as the night before, probably had no sleep. “Got a lock on your thieves. The local law is on it’s way. So, the guy with the horse has to be a friend of yours, right? Nice looking stallion, gotta say.”

  
“Thank you, his name is Hero,” said the voice, apparently linked in on his sat phone. “And you must be Sam’s friends with the eyes in the sky. That is the most beautiful helicopter I have ever seen. Not available at any air show, I dare say.”

  
“The Lady is an original,” said Dom, briefly. “Hey, String, they’re making a break for that warehouse. The Lady says they got a speed boat in there.”

  
“I see it,” said String’s laconic voice. “You on the horse, stay clear. If I scare the horse, Sam will never forgive me.”

  
“I will stay clear enough. If you can stop them from getting to the boat, I will take care of the thieves,” said that voice.

  
“He’s left the horse and headed toward the thieves, String,” said Caitlin. “Heh, scratch one speedboat. He might need help, they’re splitting up. Drop me ahead of that white jeep, then get the other one, okay?”

  
“Careful, Caitlin, Sam said they have guns,” said Dom, as Sam listened carefully, saying nothing. “The Lady has a lock on ‘em, so they ain’t getting away.”

  
“Oh, give it up, you moron,” grumbled Dom, making Sam grin at Morgan, picturing it. “Herd him back to the purple guy, String. He’s already got that guy down. Huh, that right jab is a killer. Heh, Caitlin got hers, too, here she comes. Hey, Sam, think we got your pothunters. What you want to do with their loot, I guess it is?”

  
“I dunno, ask the purple guy, he’s as much as the law here, I guess,” said Sam, “Jungle Patrol is the legal agency, but the rest of the country figures it’s him. He may be meta, but he’s cool. Never met him, myself.”

  
“Okay, we’ll call ya in a bit, let ya know what happened,” said Dom’s voice, and the Lady disconnected them all. Sam laughed and went over it as she thought it had happened with Morgan.

  
“Our ghost friend trailed those guys to some place on the coast with a speed boat in a warehouse or some place,” she told him. “Caitlin and her pals found ‘em, too. The Lady got everyone connected by phone, and the jeeps made a run for the boat. Hawke blew up the boat and the three jeeps split up, figuring to lose the Lady. Fat chance, that, but Caitlin jumped out and took Towanda down, the Phantom got the middle one, who apparently went back inland, toward him, bad idea, and the Lady pushed the other guy back toward the ghost, who got him, too. Right jab that really impressed Dom, I guess. They’ll call back later.”

  
“You want to hit something, don’t you?” Morgan said with a grin. “I can tell that you are just irked that you got left out of this. You want to spar some? No one here to get riled up at but me, so go ahead and hit me.”

  
“Yeah, I do want to hit something, doll,” sighed Sam, stretching, “but not you. Still, a little practice never hurt anyone, much.”

  
“Throws?” he asked, standing up and stretching some himself. “I still can’t get the distance you can on throws. Makes no sense, you weigh less than me, I’m stronger than you, and I fly through the air like a bird, and you land right next to me and counter attack.”

  
“Hon, I had professional training, you’re just starting out. Give it time to get into your muscle memory. Like the falls, the body has to learn to do it automatically,” said Sam, turning to face her husband and taking a stance. For about an hour, watched by several curious locals, they practiced on the grassy lawn, Sam grateful she was wearing dark clothes. Morgan probably ruined his khaki shorts and shirt with grass stains, but didn’t care. He wasn’t much for shorts, anyway. Then Sam’s phone rang, the whinny of her old horse.

  
“Yes?” asked Sam, as they walked up toward the hotel, needing showers again. “Oh, yes, I suppose we can do that, if we can get a rental or something. Does the Lady have a location? Okay, we’ll do our best, Cait. Bye.”

  
“Change of plans?” asked Morgan, as Sam headed into the hotel lobby toward the desk clerk.

  
“Caitlin says meet ‘em at the dig site, so we need wheels,” said Sam, and shortly they were bouncing down the road to the dig site with Sam at the wheel and Morgan hanging on to anything he could get a hold on. This was no jeep, however, but a Landrover of some kind and Sam growled and swore at the shift numerous times. Still, they were soon at the site, surprising the students and the guardian Patrolman.

  
“Hey, guys,” greeted Sam as she parked the bright yellow vehicle. “Your stuff is on it’s way back, I think with my friends. Now, I know you all are gonna write books and stuff someday, but don’t put down anything about my friends, okay? It’s really classified, and a lot of people want it, really bad.”

  
“What, that magic helicopter you mentioned last night?” laughed Suliman, a soda in hand. “If they are bringing back the jewels, what of the Phantom?”

  
“Yeah, the super secret spies-will-want-to-kill-you-for-it magic helicopter,” agreed Sam, without a trace of a grin. “Now, I don’t know you, Patrolman Sykes, but it would be really nice if you would promise not to tell anyone, anyone at all, about my friends and their pretty bird. It’s got some names you can call her, Lady, Crying Thunderbird, Flying Wolf, but try not to tell anyone about it. Lots of secret agencies want it really bad, and they aren’t all the kind that play nice or by rules, okay?”

  
“Sure, Ms. Wayne,” agreed the Patrolman, not sure what all the fuss was about. How secret could a helicopter be, after all? “Wait, this is the Flying Wolf? I saw it once, in Afghanistan! It pretty much blew up the side of a mountain. Uh, you know them? Huh, not a word, ma’am. Saved my unit and a bunch of other guys a few years back.”

  
“Guys, you got something to put those sparkly bits in when they get here?” asked Sam, looking around the camp. “Pretty sure those crates they had won’t fit in the Lady the way they were made, one, maybe, but they might have had trouble with more. The Lady seats four, but she already had three.”

  
“Got a plastic water barrel over there we used for showers,” said Dita, pointing. “The top unscrews, and we could easily cork it, if we can’t find the plug part. Come on, Sarah, let’s go empty it out.”

  
Sam’s phone whinnied, making everyone laugh. She pulled it out and held it to her ear.

  
“Okay, Sam,” said Caitlin, and Sam heard her smile in her voice. “We’re in the air. Inbound with a ghost and some treasure. I feel like I should have a cutlass.”

  
“What about the horse?” said Sam, disappointed that she wouldn’t see the famous Hero. “I know he wouldn’t fit.”

  
“He can get back on his own,” said that voice, and Sam wondered what he looked like, surely not good enough to match that amazing voice. “No one will interfere with him, and he knows the way home.”

  
“Well, do you have a fix, milady, or shall I say on the line?” asked Sam, wanting to hear the sound of Airwolf’s engines approaching.

  
“We’ll be there in a moment,” said Airwolf’s voice. “You may disconnect.”

  
“Okay, listen for the wolf,” said Sam, cocking her head. “Oh, they were close, hear it?”

  
“I think Milady is playing tricks,” said Morgan, as the sound seemed to circle around them, “I can hear her, but not see her.”

  
From a clear sky, above the clearing of the paved plaza, rotorwash blew leaves and dirt toward them, but there was no sign of the helicopter but a slight shimmer. Then the illusion dropped and there sat a beautiful, deadly helicopter, rotors slowing as she settled to the stone flagging.

  
“By the Ancestors!” exclaimed Ken, sitting down hard on the ground. “I thought you were joking! It _is_ magic!”

  
“She,” corrected Sam, as the door opened on one side and a tall, powerful shape in purple exited. “The Lady is a princess in the shape of a helicopter. Stay on her good side.”

  
“And the Ghost Who Walks knows them, too?” Hurnot, seemed not at all surprised, as another figure, this one in grey flight suit and shiny black helmet got out the same door. “Of course he does. He knows everybody.”

  
“Hey, Caitlin, Lady, String, Dom,” said Morgan, ambling over with the barrel. “Hear you guys had some fun. Brought something to put the loot in, since the thieves broke that big jar. What did you do with the varmints, anyhow?”

  
“Left ‘em zip tied to the overturned jeep,” said the man in purple, helping Caitlin pull out several gym bags full of heavy stuff, which turned out to be the loot. “Jungle Patrol got orders to pick them up. Also have some people coming to take charge of this. The barrel will be very useful, thank you. You must be the Sam and Morgan I keep hearing about.”

  
“Yep, I’m Morgan Wayne, that there’s Sam, my wife,” the retired outlaw told him, shaking his hand. As firm as the Batman’s, he estimated, and probably for the same reasons. Didn’t seem terribly old, but, none of his affair. “Kinda ticked she didn’t get to horn in on the action, but not wantin’ anyone hurt, she kept her hands off. Not her normal reaction to stuff like this, but maybe bein’ pregnant mellowed her some. Not enough to slow her down this morning, but mellowed. Or could be just the lack of caffeine.”

  
“Sam, mellowed?” laughed Caitlin, dumping the last sack, and making sure it didn’t have anything stuck in it. “Gotta be a caffeine deficit.”

  
“Well, the way you talk, Caitlin,” snorted Sam with a smile. “Just gotta be closer to people next time. Good that you and the Lady were closer than home, anyway. That business all concluded?”

  
“Yeah, no one will even notice we took a little detour,” shrugged Caitlin, wadding up the gymbags and tossing them back in what Sam suspected was a missile compartment. “And we took a couple turns around the place and we’ll send you a scan of the terrain and formations. Thought you might like it for the dig. Ran past your last site, too, so you can see what our Lady can do with radar now.”

  
“Oooh, lidar enhanced, no more brush hacking for these guys,” said Sam eagerly. “This might be the legendary Land of Punt that Egypt traded with in the Eighteenth Dynasty, and I expect great things from this crew here. They promise, no mention of you guys in any future articles or books.”

  
The Ghost Who Walks, as people called him, though he looked distinctly un ghostlike in the near sunset light, fitted the plastic lid on the barrel, screwing it down tight. Sarah had found the plastic stopper, so things would be secure. A hail from the forest edge reached them and several dozen natives armed with spears and shields trooped into the camp, not sure what to stare at first, the Phantom or the helicopter.

  
“Well, guess this is the bunch the pretties belong to?” said Caitlin, to the Phantom. “Okay, we’ll be going now. Sam, we need another barbecue day! You alright gettin’ left here, Mr. Phantom? No trouble to drop you off somewhere, I guess.”

  
“No thank you, Caitlin,” said that deep, impressive voice, and Sam understood what Suliman had meant with his story about the man. “I can get home from here as easily as Hero can. Not sure you want even the Lady to try where I live. Lots more trees than here, less open.”

  
“Okay, see ya!” said Caitlin, putting her helmet on and getting back in the helicopter. The rotors, never completely stopped, spun up and Airwolf lifted up off the ground just enough for her wheels to go up, then she shimmered and vanished, though the downdraft marked their lift off.


	34. Chapter 34

“Actually, you might see us, but the other way round, not so much anymore,” laughed Sam, as they turned toward the rather stunned looking tribesmen. “Well, looks like we spend the night again, guys. Dang, I coulda used a shower before we came out here, now it’ll have to wait til tomorrow morning. Again.”

  
“Oh, you get to stay anytime, Sam,” Dita told her, as the tribesmen gathered around the Phantom and the barrel. Sam assumed they were trying to figure out how to carry it. “But this time, you tell all the stories! You must know some good ones, the people you know.”

  
“You kids got no idea,” Morgan assured them. “She collects odd friends the way some folks collect stamps.”

  
“That include you, Mr Wayne?” asked Ken, setting the camp chairs around the table. “Hurnot, what we got for dinner tonight?”

  
“Son, it most especially includes me,” the ex outlaw told the young man, while going to the camp stove and starting it up. “I know you thought we were pulling your legs about the helicopter. Me? Time travel, the old west, outlaws, secret identities and exaggerated deaths. Also, she knows Spiderman to say hi to on the street, Iron Man, and enough spies and secret agents to fill a barn.”

  
“What? Well what are you doing here, then?” asked Hurnot, curiously, pulling out cans and jars of stuff to put in the pots he had ready. “Aside from saving us from getting shot last night, that is.”

  
“I’m rather curious about that myself,” said the Phantom, deep voice startling in the gloom. The sun had set and apparently the tribesmen and the Phantom also intended to sleep here. Poor Patrolman Sykes was trying not to be seen or heard, and Sam felt sorry for him, a bit. With all these warriors and the Phantom, he was not really needed as far as guard duty went, at least for this night.

  
“Oh, well, it all began when Sam couldn’t believe her mother was going on a safari,” Morgan began, as they cooked dinner for the students and patrolman. The men of the Dwezi tribe had brought their own, supplemented by several rabbits and some fruit. The Phantom ate with the warriors, and afterward, they sat around the campfire and listened to Sam and Morgan argue about how much to tell the students about how they had met. Eventually, having been sworn to secrecy, repeatedly, Sam told the tale. Mostly. She left out the Batman parts.

  
“Well, I can’t see how that would need to be such a secret,” said Dita, thinking it over after she’d finished. “I mean, yes, that’s amazing, and no, I wouldn’t want it known to, like news people or anything, but that was a long time ago, who cares now who you were or are?”

  
“You want to tell folks there’s a working time rift somewhere, and see what happens?” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow. “First, I was careful not to tell anyone where it is, but someone like that von Doom guy, or Reed Richards, or even Stark, they’d want to study it, use it, figure out how it works, wouldn’t they? Other folks like, say Luthor, your garden variety meta nutjobs, they’d want to exploit it. And that doesn’t even take into account the regular people, some sane, some not, who’d want to go back and change something, do something, fix something. I don’t know how it works, but I do know time moves differently on either side, and not consistently. I do not want to be responsible for someone totally screwing up time, the universe, whatever. We got lucky, mostly due to Morgan planning everything carefully. Some idiot bigot that wants the South to have won the American Civil War, not likely.”

  
“And the story Caitlin told me of the Grand Canyon, that was true, too?” asked the Phantom, relaxed against a log near the fire, almost invisible in the gloom except for his eyes. A gigantic wolf had appeared an hour before and lain down next to him, and now had his shaggy head on one purple knee.

  
“Oh, yeah, that was not my finest hour,” grimaced Sam, pointing at her arm. “Bled all over the pretty helicopter, and have still never seen the inside of the Lady. At least Caitlin didn’t tell you about our bar fight.”

  
“Oh, but she would have, if she’d had time, I bet,” chuckled Morgan. “She loves that story. And the video she sent was just as good as she said it would be. If we’d thought to bring a laptop, we could have shown you. Not the usual bar fight, you understand, Sam and Caitlin against about forty lawmen in a bar in Dallas. I counted, by the way, and it was actually thirty seven, so, forty folks total in the place.”

  
“Hmm, you and Caitlin have training, then?” he asked, nothing suggesting great interest, just conversation. The tribesmen had been sitting quietly since dinner, listening intently and Sam figured most must understand English, or maybe just be alert for some word from the Phantom. Several were on the edges of camp watching for wildlife, but none had shown their whiskers but the wolf. “In martial arts of some kind?”

  
“Oh, yeah, Caitlin’s really good at Krav Maga, no slouch with a gun, great flyer, good on a horse, got some smattering of other styles,” said Sam, nodding. “Me, Kendo, aikido, judo, some kung fu, tai kwon do, bit of other stuff, okay with a gun, pretty good on a horse, not a flyer, though.”

  
“Not hardly fair to those ol’ boys in the bar,” grinned Morgan, from next to his wife by the fire. “Some of ‘em were drunk, most not expecting two little ladies like you to wipe the floor with ‘em. But if a lady says no, and a man doesn’t take his leave, he has to expect to be, ah, taught better.”

  
“Hey, some of those guys had training, too,” protested Sam. “I know a couple were self defense instructors, and at least one is some kind of karate guy. You can bet those guys won’t ever say anything about that night. Ruin their reputations forever.”

  
“Was the first time we went to San Diego,” Morgan told the group, rapt attention on him, “in Balboa Park, four punk kids tried to take our wallets. She straight up warned ‘em they needed more guys. Told ‘em she was trained, didn’t even break a sweat. Happened so fast, I still don’t really know what she did. Just a pile of bodies all of a sudden.”

  
“Yeah, and I still can’t hit a target from a running horse at the distance you did, and with those old revolvers, yet, hon,” laughed Sam. “Surprise helps when I do stuff like that, most of the time. I like to stack the deck when I can, come to that. Back up is not something I like to leave to chance.”

  
“Well, Caitlin took down that Towanda without trouble,” mentioned the Phantom, scratching the ruff of the wolf’s hair. “Shot out a tire, then the windscreen. Put the fear of whatever Towanda believes in, in her, and she came back all meek and mild, trying to pretend she wasn’t in on it at all. The Lady forced the other back toward us, and then blew it over. Good trick, that. Jeeps don’t usually get blown over by rotor wash.”

  
“Ah, probably used the turbos briefly,” guessed Sam. “Did you get a look at their altimeter and airspeed readouts? I know she’s Mach capable, and been extra-atmospheric at least twice.”

  
“No, a helicopter?” said the jungle myth, grinning. “I suppose that design is far more than it appears, isn’t it? I’ve seen helicopters fitted with rockets, but there were buttons labeled Hellfire, Chain guns, 1 and 2, Chaff, Missiles and a couple things I didn’t see with Dom in the way. Isn’t supposed to be an airframe that can take that with a rotor system. But the Lady can, I take it.”

  
“Used chain guns on the guys shooting at us in the Grand Canyon,” nodded Sam. “Got no idea what she used on your speedboat, but they were in Somalia yesterday, so they might be down to the small stuff by now. No idea where they fuel up before going home, but home is on the West Coast. Support mostly by the Firm, but that’s just rumors, if anyone asks.”

  
“The Lady said she had my number if I needed anything,” said the Phantom, and how did he get the eyes on the mask to do that, wondered Morgan, interested. “I can imagine they don’t get over here often. I don’t have their number, so that probably won’t happen. I could probably fix their fuel problem over here, though.”

  
“Well, the Lady’s an AI, an artificial intelligence, so I think she amuses herself by immersing herself on the Web. I think you pick up a phone and she’ll know. Nothing normal about her memory and CPU capacity, anymore. Said she’d found a hobby after I mentioned Bengalla a few days back, so she might have a particular eye on this place, or even you. If she likes you, it could be pretty useful, especially if you end up outside your own territory. The guys at Edwards and Pendleton call her the Ghost of the Coast, cause they know she’s there, but they can’t see her. Perfect if you need help, no?”

  
“As I very seldom need to blow things up, perhaps not,” grinned the Phantom, the fire making him seem to flicker in the night. “Impressive mess of that boat house, though.”

  
“Sam, did you tell your parents you were out adventuring again, or are you just letting them worry?” asked Morgan, relaxed with his arm around his wife.

  
“Hon, it wouldn’t matter if I told my mother that I was climbing Mount Kilimanjaro tonight, she wouldn’t believe a word of it,” Sam told him, comfortably leaning on his shoulder. “I can tell her the absolute truth, and somehow she’ll rationalize it as something completely mundane, like shopping or hiking or visiting a museum. I don’t know how, but she has always done that. Polo? just messing around with my horse. Bar fight, a night out with a girlfriend. Fight to the death with a murderous rapist, walk in the park. You are undoubtedly the most exciting thing she thinks I’ve ever done, doll.”

  
“What, she never saw you play?” asked Morgan, surprised. Social butterflies, as Sam had called them, always went to polo games, in his experience. Okay, hundred years past experience, but still. “And what did she think all those martial arts lessons were for?”

  
“Always characterized it as exercise,” sighed Sam, feeling grimy from rolling around on the lawn that afternoon. Oh well, shower at the hotel then next day, she could deal.

  
“And your dad?” asked Morgan, wondering how anyone could not know what kind of exciting life Sam led. “He’s the same way?”

  
“Ah, he pretends he doesn’t know, but he had to bail me out of jail once, years ago, so he just kind of ignores what I say unless he needs something. I did a little job or two for him, off the books, when he was still on the bench. He won’t say anything unless he doesn’t hear from us soon.”

  
“Why were you in jail?” asked the Patrolman, who had studiously ignored the Phantom all night. As if he would not be real if he didn’t look at him.

  
“Had a little difference of opinion on something with a rather unpleasant guy at a horse show,” shrugged Sam. “He needed stitches, a cast and some therapy. Matter of form, putting me in the clink. Nice officers, very impressed with the job. I ended up training their police horses for them. Then the Park incident, of course.”

  
“Balboa Park Strangler,” Morgan told them, every eye on him. “Made bait of herself, then stomped him into the ground. Your friend said you fixed him pretty good. What did they call you? The She-wolf of San Diego, heh.”

  
“They needed someone with the ability to defend themselves from a nutball with a weapon, and still look harmless for the bait,” shrugged Sam, yawning. “Not a lot of folks with as much training as me who still look victim-y, see? But even if he hadn’t tried me, he’d have run across someone in that town that could take him, eventually. But didn’t seem like a good idea to take the time to let that happen, what with murder and all. So, I do an elaborate little routine of ‘oh, my car won’t start, must walk to bus stop to get home in dusk’, and start hiking it across the park. Guy took the bait, tried me out, said a few things that made me mad, so I, uh, didn’t hold back, the way you do in classes, in tournaments, you know? Big guy, had just enough training to think he was good. He wasn’t.”

  
“And who was your back up then, the officer we met in the Park?” asked Morgan curiously. “You surely had someone in case of a problem, didn’t you?”

  
“Not really close, no,” admitted Sam, reluctantly. “A criminal sometimes can seemingly smell a cop, undercover or not, and unless the guy was Bruce Lee or someone, I wasn’t likely to be in much trouble. I did have a signal device for when the bait was taken, but it took long enough for them to get there that I had time to, um, render him compliant, was the phrase the Captain used in his report.”

  
“How compliant?” asked that deep voice across the fire, amusement in that sound. He had indeed been as impressive looking as that voice, she had decided.

  
“Uh, unconscious and kinda broken compliant,” said Sam, hoping he wasn’t going to critique that. “He got mashed in a rather appropriate place for a rapist, and there were some broken bones, and a tooth, I think.”

  
“How many broken bones?” persisted her husband, chuckling, for he knew it hadn’t been just one.

  
“Mm, I think the inquiry said six or seven,” said Sam, thinking about it. “I think they missed a couple, though. Two ribs, felt ‘em go, cheek bone, knee, both forearms, but I know I did some in on the hands and feet, and might have chipped the eye socket. He didn’t want to let go of his knife, and I made him.”


	35. Chapter 35

“The Phantom is rough on roughnecks,” said Hurnot, grinning at her. “Old jungle saying. He’s not going to be mad at you for that. Nor for what you did to keep us from being in danger. Not like him to worry about what is over with, anyway. So, what else do you intend to do in Bengalla, Ms. Sam?”

  
“Well, eventually go back to the hotel and get a shower,” laughed Sam, wondering if her worries about what the Ghost thought of her were all that obvious. “I think my parents can get back to Mawitaan without us, if they decide to go tomorrow and we aren’t back. Want to see what kind of survey Caitlin sent us? You guys have a laptop here, right?”

  
“We’re supposed to have half the Anthro department here by tomorrow afternoon,” Dita told her. “I told them we needed at least another barrel for the shower, but we can’t have one before then. Sorry.”

  
“Oh, I’ve been dirty before, won’t kill me,” grinned Sam. “Probably dirtier than you guys, actually. One of the dig sites I worked was an old whaling site, and most of the dirt was actually fine, oily soot. Got in your pores and everything else, and it would have been worse had we not been actually on the coast.”

  
“So, no set itinerary?” came that deep voice from across the fire. “The Dwezi invite you to come to their village for a feast. They are grateful for your help with recovering the jewels. They also want to hear more about the Lady, if you can be convinced to tell tales of her and her crew.”

  
“Oh, Patrolman Sykes saw her working in Afghanistan,” said Sam, grinning at the very quiet Patrolman. “He could tell you stories about her really cutting loose. I just know a few stories, never actually saw it.”

  
“Ah, then you must tell the tale,” requested the Phantom of the Patrolman with the absolute certainty that he would. It wasn’t an order, it was just a statement of fact. Sam yawned.

  
“Sorry, guys, I gotta go to bed,” she told them. “I may really have a caffeine deficit, or maybe it's the baby. Wouldn’t think it would make much difference yet, but I’m beat. See you all tomorrow?”

  
Sam fell asleep instantly, strange bed, odd noises and all, Morgan in the tent with her that the two false teachers had occupied. They slept like logs until just before dawn when someone shook Sam awake, a hand across her mouth. Her hand came up in a strike that was easily dodged, and she saw the masked face of the Ghost Who Walks smiling at her.

  
“Shh,” was all he said, and turned to Morgan. Having slept in their clothes, they put on their shoes and went outside to find the Dwezi silently filing out of camp, an arrangement of poles holding the barrel and being carried by four men. The rest strode silently along with spears and shields, vanishing into the jungle with nothing to show they had ever been there. The Phantom and his gigantic wolf followed them, waving them to follow him. Sam looked at Morgan and shrugged and trotted after the mysterious fellow and his wolf. Morgan grinned to himself. His wife was never going to let him hear the end of it if she didn’t get a shower soon. She wasn’t that much different than her mother. He could see her texting on her phone in the gloom, and figured she was sending a message saying they would be delayed, don’t worry.

  
The pace set was an easy one to keep up with, although the Phantom and the wolf disappeared shortly after some light began to filter through the leaves. The Dwezi made sure that at least one warrior kept an eye on them at all times, as they were aware that Sam and Morgan had no experience with jungles, no matter what else they had done. Sam got a really good shot of a large python, a pretty good one of a leopard, and a blurry one of a fast moving troop of chimps. Nothing was foolish enough to attack them, and Sam was sure they would have seen more animals if she could have been quieter.

  
At mid day, hot and sticky, they came to the Dwezi village, a rather idyllic looking place with a stream and a small pond and a wooden stockade type of fence made of logs with points and gates. The gates were wide open and they were greeted by the Chiefess of the village with flowers and smiles all around. Sam felt distinctly underdressed with all the neatly coiffed and brightly dressed folk, not one of whom had so much as a smear of dirt on them.

  
The Chiefess apparently noted their bedraggled state as well, sending them off with a couple of men for Morgan and women for Sam to get cleaned up for a light lunch and the evening feast and dancing that was scheduled. Sam found not only a bath, but an outfit loaned to her by someone who’s name she didn’t catch. Everyone spoke English of some kind, several accents were evident, and her American English was considered somewhat exotic. A small clinic of mud and thatch boasted a radio antenna and a cell tower powered by solar panels, and there were solar lanterns everywhere. Sam assured her parents that it was fine if they left the hotel without her, she was having dinner with friends from the dig.

  
“Heh, didn’t tell your mom you were in the jungle with a tribe of locals having a party?” said Morgan, now clad in a kind of kilt with a bright red and blue pattern on it. It looked odd with his boots, but he wasn’t about to go barefoot here. “No wonder she doesn’t believe you have adventures.”

  
“I’m actually more worried about the Land Rover,” shrugged Sam, now dressed in a very bright green and yellow sarong. “I hope the Hotel doesn’t mind, or the students take it back or something. Pretty sure we were supposed to have it back by today.”

  
“Can’t say you stole it,” laughed Morgan as they were seated in a shady place by the central plaza. “It’ll get back somehow, don’t worry. Nice folks, the Dwezi. Gonna tell ‘em bout the Lady?”

  
“Reasonable amounts, yes,” nodded Sam, with a smile. “Not the full specs or anything, but maybe the fairytale princess thing. True, really. But, remember, doll, I write for a living, or used to. I can spin tales with the best of ‘em. But maybe we get you to tell some tales, you got some to tell, after all.”

  
“Oh, I want to hear about the Jungle Olympics this thing is the trophy for,” Morgan told her, accepting a cup of something from a girl who seemed to be assigned to feed them snacks. “Sounds like a good story to me. Mighty good trophy, after all, and that in itself must be a tale of some kind.”

  
The Chiefess appeared late in the afternoon, having apparently been directing the party preparations. Her hair and outfit was quite resplendent and Sam was a bit envious of her striking head dress and movie star level figure.

  
“Ah, Phantom friends!” she said, sitting beside them in the gathering shadows by the plaza. “I am sorry to have neglected you for so long, but this was a very sudden thing, and nothing will be lacking tonight for our celebration. We are most grateful for your help in returning the Olympic Trophy treasures to us. The tribe would have suffered much shame and dishonor if it had been lost from our custody. Tomorrow a new jar will be made for it, but for now that barrel will do nicely. It seems that someone found out about the place we chose to hide the thing, and we must be more cautious from now on. The Ghost Who Walks says that it was a woman, a young woman, who plotted this?”

  
“Called herself Towanda Mwelu,” nodded Morgan, having had a short nap in the hammock-like chair, though Sam had watched everything with rapt, anthropological attention. “Wouldn’t have got out of camp, ‘ceptin’ we didn’t think she was in on it until too late. Probably should have tried for her gun earlier, but too late to wish for might have beens. Said she was studying anatomy, had a book and everything.”

  
“Ah, I was afraid of that,” sighed the Chiefess, who was called Dwalisa. “It was probably that prodigal child of my youngest brother, Towandisa. She dropped out of school and fell in with a bad crowd, last we heard. Well, we will find out, once the Ghost Who Walks hears the results of the trials. I had so hoped she would be a doctor, or something honorable, eventually.”

  
“Can’t always figure what they’ll turn out, ma’am,” shrugged Morgan, feeling quite relaxed in this paradisiacal place, and enjoying the beautiful women passing by. “Me and Sam, we’re gonna have a baby in, what, bout six months or so, and then we gotta try to do our best with the kid. All you can do, see. Not always up to the parents how the kid turns out, though.”

  
“I have been lucky with my own children,” agreed the Chiefess, smiling at the file of warriors in fancy outfits coming their way. “I wish you luck with yours! Now, I hope you are ready to eat and dance with us, and then tell stories! I particularly want to hear about the helicopter that is a princess! It sounds so much like a Disney movie to me. I loved the movie Brave, but Beauty and the Beast was really good, too.”

  
“Sorry, ma’am, I ain’t seen those, yet,” Morgan told her as they were escorted to the feasting seating, hard against the log palisade. “Sam’s started me on movies, but I have seen all the Star Wars and Indiana Jones movies, the Star Trek stuff and some selected comedies. I got a late start, so she kind of was trying to give me a cultural base to work on. Not up to Disney yet.”

  
“We have a good link to the internet here with the clinic,” explained Dwalisa, as they were seated first after she herself. “And we all use my Netflix account! I went to school in Sheffield, England, so my Science fiction preference has always been Doctor Who. Now, just sit there and stuff yourselves, time enough to tell tales later. Everyone knows all about you by now.”

  
The rest of the night was quite entertaining, and Sam and Morgan managed to get more stories about the Jungle Olympics out of their hosts than tales told themselves. Sam did have to demonstrate, carefully, her self defense moves on a skeptical couple of warriors, but after that she could have told them she had wings and they would have checked her back. It was a very filling evening, and their hosts led them to very nice quarters, and let them sleep in comfort.


	36. Chapter 36

They woke early, but not at dawn, and were given back their clothes, clean and dry, most of Morgan’s grass stains even gone. A nice little girl gave them both cloth bags that had fruit and bread in them, and a water gourd each. Leftovers from the night before were almost as good for breakfast and then they found a pair of horses outside the gates with saddles and bridles. Beside them was the Phantom, on the most beautiful white horse Sam had ever seen. Without thought, she walked up to the horse and put out a hand for the stallion to sniff.

  
Ears pricked, the horse drew in her scent and gently nuzzled her palm. Sam stepped back and looked him over more carefully. The horse had a kind of shine to him that most white horses didn’t, due, Sam knew, to the way the pigment of the hair follicles caught the light. This was, to some extent, almost the metallic shine Akel Teke horses had, not the usual dullness white horses had. Well, she didn’t know his breeding, maybe he was part bred. Not the look of that breed to the body, mostly thoroughbred there, but not fragile looking, solid. Sam was deeply impressed.

  
“Now, even Midnight ain’t so pretty as that horse,” remarked Morgan admiringly. “Hero, you said his name was?”

  
“Yes, latest in a fairly long line of horses like him,” nodded the Phantom, as they went to the two waiting horses and checked the tack before mounting. Sam was so relieved she had on her leggings and trainers, not a pair of shorts. She did miss her helmet, though. She would try to stay on, she told herself. “Bred in the jungle, used to the things that live here, resistant to the various diseases and such. And fast and well trained. Follow him, but if he stops, don’t let your mounts go past him.”

  
“Got it,” nodded Sam, as Morgan lengthened his stirrups from the saddle, an English one. They tied their food and water on the saddle pommels where rings were set in the leather. “Where we going?”

  
“Home,” he said and turned the stallion into the fields that bordered the village, waved to by the farmers going to their vegetable patches and fruit trees. The giant wolf, Devil, was back, and he ranged ahead of them, apparently knowing where the masked guardian wanted to go without being told. The forest enveloped them in buzzing green and gold, shafts of light stabbing down from the canopy like straws from heaven drinking the rich soil below their feet. “I thought you would like to see some of the country you can’t get to by rail. I guarantee no train robberies.”

  
“How’d you know about the train robbers?” asked Morgan, staring around him, not sure what was dangerous and what wasn’t. “Don’t think we mentioned ‘em to the students.”

  
“Jungle Patrol report,” he told them, leading them past a sparkling stream with a deer on the other side that didn’t seem worried about them. “You have quite a reputation in your own town, Sam. The Jungle Patrol got a file on you from San Diego and are going to be very sure you don’t have any more excitement in Mawaitaan. Well, they will try. They have some experience with volatile women, and they are aware of what can happen with someone as skilled with the martial arts as you. At least you didn’t get in the middle of a gang war, drug smuggling or poaching.”

  
“What do you mean, women who are volatile?” asked Morgan, agreeing with the idea of keeping Sam away from trouble. “Particularly women?”

  
“Hmm, the reason most women don’t cause trouble as much as men,” reasoned the Phantom from ahead of them, “is that they mostly don’t want to go up against someone who wrongs them physically. An ordinary woman who sees an injustice or a crime reports it to the authorities, right? Not someone like Sam. Especially not when she figures she has you to back her up. No, she takes it on herself to fix the trouble, like a man would do. Or more, since she’s also really smart. So, it makes men uncomfortable when she does that, and they either try harder to be bad and buck her, or they knuckle under in shame. Tell me that isn’t how it works with her, Morgan.”

  
“Uh, so far,” he agreed, hoping she didn’t get mixed up in drug smuggling or gang wars without him. Poaching he figured she could handle on her own, but he thought that would be fun, too. “Sounds like you have experience with someone similar?”

  
“Oh, yes,” he said, and Sam could hear something muttered under his breath, but couldn’t make it out. “So, trying to keep your visit happy and fairly boring, at least until you leave for, what, Egypt, was it?”

  
“That’s the plan,” agreed Sam happily. “What sort of relationship do you have to the Jungle Patrol that you can get reports from them, or give orders? You don’t seem like a uniform. Hmm, well, not their sort of uniform. And didn’t Patrolman Sykes say they don’t, in spite of their name, actually have jurisdiction in the true jungle itself? It sounded like that jurisdiction is actually yours.”

  
“That is correct,” said that amazing voice, his hand pointing at a rather dark part of trees that on closer inspection was a small elephant. Sam knew it wouldn’t show if she took a picture, but was elated. Forest elephants were rare these days. “For almost five centuries. The Phantom Peace, they call it, but sometimes it takes a lot of effort to keep that peace. Worth it, though.”

  
“And you do this all the time?” asked Morgan, curiously. “Not like it seems to be a bad job, and if the horse came with it, Sam would do it, but all the time? No vacations?”

  
“Ah, well, vacations for me are usually in the rainy season, as not much happens then,” he said and the chuckle that came with that was reassuring to Sam. The Batman never laughed, it was part of his terrifying oeuvre, the humorless stalker of night and the predator of evil things. Besides, in Gotham, the Joker laughed, Batman did not. “And what I think of as a vacation is not always what other people would find relaxing.”

  
“Sam claims that’s why her friends play polo, it’s more relaxing than their jobs. That spy feller, Michael, her friend Jana, real estate law for wind farms, she said. And that Bobby guy, bomb disposal for the police, I think,” said Morgan, thinking about it. “I suppose you go sky diving and skiing. I still got my doubts about those two as sports.”

  
“Oh, those are fun for a while,” he agreed, as they forded a river, waved at by a pair of native hunters with spears. “Useful to know how to do those things, on occasion, but boring after that. Last vacation I learned how to free climb. I think that might prove very useful in the future. Possibly soon.”

  
“Maybe,” said Sam slowly, thinking about Gotham now, “I might have a line on someone who could get you some gear for that. I think he uses gloves with claws. Not sure, never saw him do it, but he does it all the time.”

  
“Who?” said Morgan, not quite sure what free climbing was. “Spidey? He didn’t seem to have anything on but essentially socks and gloves.”

  
“No, the Batman,” said Sam, as they rode through a spectacular clearing, golden sunshine in a bowl of lush green. “Spidey is meta, he doesn’t use tools to climb, though his webs are from a device. Real spiders make webs from their abdomens, and that might have been a bridge too far even for New Yorkers.”

  
“Yeah, swinging that way would be, at least awkward, maybe painful,” laughed Morgan, picturing it in his head. “Certainly put a crimp in the way he webbed up that mugger. But I’ve never seen the Batman do anything, hmm, active, so I have no idea what kind of gear he has. What is free climbing, then? Just climbing stuff seems pretty straight forward, it must be more than that.”

  
“It involves climbing things like mountains and cliffs without safety ropes, usually with just your fingers and toes to hold onto things, from what I’ve seen,” said Sam, with no desire to do the thing herself. “Not a safe sport, lots of folks get hurt doing it. You get to the top of that heap and you don’t stay there long. Most don’t die in bed, unless it’s a hospital bed.”

  
“Ah, don’t seem temptin’ to me,'' allowed Morgan, wondering at the things some people did for fun. Ah, well, he was one to talk. Hadn’t he spent his life getting shot at? “This place have a name? It’s right pretty country, and seems like it ain’t so dangerous as the locals keep tellin’ us. Ain’t seen a lion or anything like that yet.”

  
“We’ve been surrounded by Bandar warriors and hunters for about an hour now,” the Phantom’s voice told him from ahead. The meadow looked as if no one but they and the wolf were in it. “Big cats leave them alone from experience. We can go looking for some, if you like, but I’d rather have different horses, now that I’ve seen you ride. These are just transportation, not good horses.”

  
“Oh, I don’t need to go looking for lions or whatever,” said Morgan hastily. “Don’t want to shoot or kill anything except to maybe eat it, and nothing big for that. Just the way people talked, this place was dangerous because of all the wild life. Already seen plenty, just kinda wondered.”

  
“This is the Deep Woods, my home, and the tribal territory of the Bandar tribe, the pygmy folk that were probably mentioned in Hatshepsut’s trade reports. If that site is what you tell me it is. I might have a way to find out, but the tribal chief and the shamans don’t remember ever hearing anything about it. There are ancient Egyptian sites here and there, if you know where to look.”

  
“Well, if they don’t remember anything from stories or legends, it wouldn’t be all that surprising,” said Sam, thinking about the time line she had studied before leaving for the dig the first time. “Not much in the way of living memory stretches back more than three thousand years, in any culture, especially without writing. And I rather doubt papyrus would keep in this humidity, even if there were written records. Most writing would have to be on stone.”

  
“I know someone who reads ancient Egyptian,” he told them, having to raise his voice a little, as they seemed to be coming to a waterfall. The sound was soon thunderous as they came to a wide pool that flowed away as a small river or large creek, depending on who was looking at it. Sam, from San Diego, thought it a river, Morgan, who had seen rivers like the Platt, the Mississippi and the Missouri, thought it a creek. The waterfall came from an impressive height, the spray cooling in the mid day heat. Sam wondered if they were just going to eat lunch here or something, but the magnificent pair in front just walked around the edge of the pool of water, in it, actually, and vanished behind the waterfall itself.

  
The horses they rode seemed not to be worried about this, so Sam and Morgan followed, to find themselves in a kind of tunnel. The sound of the waterfall in the stone passage was deafening, but they emerged moments later from a hillside into another lush valley. The roaring here was less, and Morgan realized that there were no hoof prints to follow as a trail through the little passage due to the water. Clever, he thought, though if a determined tracker followed them, it might be discovered.

  
Across the valley, against the other side, where white limestone cliffs formed the other side of the bowl, was a peculiar formation of stone. From this distance it looked like a precise duplicate of a human skull, perhaps missing some teeth, but a bleached human skull of colossal proportions. Scattered around the valley were several visible thatched huts, some fields, a couple of streamlets and some people. The trail led down from the hillside, and Sam saw why there wouldn’t likely be a lot of helicopter landings here, as most of the shading trees were tall and left the ground open under them. Even crops seemed to be fine with the shading, as plenty of light was evident as they rode through fields and past some houses.


	37. Chapter 37

The people were small, and not sure what constituted actual pygmy-ism, Sam just figured they were short regular people. Of course, measured against the giant figure of the Phantom, Morgan was a bit short, so it just exaggerated the stature of the Bandar folk. Cheerful greetings and waves met them as they rode, and Sam realized that these folk loved their big resident metahuman, and seemed to accept their presence without worry. Well, if he’d been with them for five centuries, trust would have been a given.

  
Small children ran along with them nearer the Skull Cave, and shouted greetings were in English and a variety of other languages as they ran beside the horses. When they stopped near the cliff face, the two visitors were helped to stow their saddles and bridles in a solidly built shed with several others, though the white stallion was led into the actual mouth of the Skull by a small man. He emerged moments later to walk off, bare of tack, toward a grassy expanse nearby, the other two horses soon following of their own volition.

  
“Oh Ghost Who Walks,” said a man in a hat woven of palm leaves, “you have brought visitors. Do they need refreshments? Should we prepare a feast? It would be easy, there is a large boar sniffing around some of the fields to the east.”

  
“Sure, Guran, that would be fine. Neither of you are Jewish, Muslim, vegetarian, right?” The giant in purple was leading them over toward what looked like a large patio with seats and tables of various sizes beneath a palm thatched roof, no walls in evidence.

  
“No, nothing like that,” laughed Sam, feeling that she should be taking care of the horses. Still, they were guests, best act like it. “Can we do anything to help?”

  
“No, just take a seat and I’ll see if I can find my expert.” With a wave of his hand he indicated the chairs and tables, then turned away to consult with a very slender woman in bright yellow. After a few words in a language Sam couldn’t identify, he jogged off into the village, and vanished.

  
“Well, someone who reads hieroglyphics is fine, but we have none to be read,” sighed Sam, choosing a large size table with a bench seat on both sides. It resembled her own picnic tables at the ranch, and seemed solid enough to take Morgan sitting on the bench. “I would love to see some here, that would be pretty definitive, but I haven’t seen any yet. Meroe, maybe, Axum, for certain, but the actual dynastic Egyptian? no carvings to support that yet.”

  
Seconds after they had seated themselves on opposite sides of the wide table, several children dashed up with cups, and an older lady in dark blue sarong and striped head cloth poured them water. An older man, leaning on a staff brought a tray of fruit and took a seat near them on smaller sized furniture.

  
“Thank you very much,” said Sam politely, not sure what local etiquette regarded as proper greetings. “Are you the one he says can translate ancient Egyptian?”

  
“Oh, my no,” laughed the man, his accent slightly Brittish and something else. “He must mean his wife. No, I never learned that. Not much call for it here. French, Latin, German, English, Maylay, some Russian, not Egyptian, ancient or modern. My wife, possibly, but not I. I wanted to read Chekov in the original, you see, but that is as exotic as I ever got. Good library here, he’s always kept it available to the tribe.”

  
“Oh, hell, don’t tell her that,” laughed Morgan, seeing the interest on Sam’s face. “Takes hours to dig her out of a good used book store, probably days to get her out of a new library. Morgan Wayne, my wife Sam Gray Wayne, sort of surprised, but he said come, so we came.”

  
“Oh, no one says no to the Phantom,” laughed the man with the staff. “I am Babudan, and my wife is Lesha, the librarian. You can stay working as a librarian longer than as a hunter, you see, though we are both getting on in years. As her mother Tula left the library in very good order, there is just a kind of holding action to be fought, not a complete reorganization as happened several decades ago. What do you have to translate?”

  
“Nothing, that’s the problem,” shrugged Sam, sipping the cold, clean water with appreciation. “I could recognize some common phrases, names, gods, but we just wanted to know if the site we were at was an ancient Egyptian trading post. Oh, three thousand years ago or so. Nothing on the ground for certain, just Axumite and maybe Meroe ruins, nothing that screamed “Eighteenth Dynasty” at me, you see. Wouldn’t be impossible, some of the baboon DNA was supposed to be the Horn of Africa area, and possibly Somalia. But I never bought into the Arabian Peninsula theory, they never had elephants.”

  
“Ah, you refer to the Hatshepsut frescos,” nodded the man, looking nothing like anyone who would have known that. “I have seen pictures. Yes, some of those animals and plants could have come from this area, I suppose. I don’t recall any ruins that seemed Egyptian, particularly, either. Still, the jungle is not kind to buildings, and they would have had to be particularly sturdy for them to last this long. Egypt is a place of no rain and little in the way of moisture, roots and vines. Not so here.”

  
“Yeah, only reason there’s anything left to find in Middle America, the Inca, Aztec, Olmec, Maya cultures, is that they were much more recent,” agreed Sam, perfectly willing to assume competence in the subject they were discussing. He lived here, he must know the jungle well.

  
“So, I don’t quite know why we’re here, since we have nothing that needs translation,” said Morgan, recognizing a man who had spent a lot of his life tracking and hunting dangerous things, more or less set to guarding them. “Not that I would have missed this trip for anything, though. And Sam would have followed that horse anywhere, given any excuse.”

  
“Likes Hero, does she?” said another voice, this one female and sounding American. “Shows good taste, he’s a very good horse. Did you have something you needed to find out about Ancient Egypt?”

  
“Well, not need, exactly,” said Sam, as they both stood up and looked toward the voice. It was a very nice looking white lady in colorful native cotton sarong and sandals, a necklace around her throat and a straw hat with a wide brim on it. Tall, she looked younger than Sam herself, and walked with what Sam identified as probably a rider’s gait. “Just curious, really. Couldn’t trust a thing those fake archeologists said, after all, but it might be Punt, or something like, see?.”

  
“Oh, I see what you mean to have me do, you sneak,” said the white woman to the Phantom beside her. “Oh, well, Thoth would love to do it, I’m sure. He doesn’t get to do as much as the others, mostly. But first, explanations. And introductions, if you please.”

  
“Ah, Sam Wayne, archeologist and friend of the Magic Helicopter, and her husband Morgan Wayne, gunslinger and also friend of the Magic Helicopter,” grinned the Phantom to his wife. “This is my wife, Christine, formerly Christine Miller, who has, ah, herself got some magic friends. Sort of. She may be able to help with your curiosity.”

  
“Oh, it sounds like a good story, there,” said Sam, shaking the lady’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. We’ll tell you our story if you tell us yours! Though, some of it gets left out because, ah, reasons, you know?”

  
“Right, there’s classified, secret and top secret,” smiled the tall woman, sitting down at their table next to Morgan on the bench, the larger Phantom sitting in a separate chair, a large rattan affair. “Have you eaten, had a shower, anything? Jeeze, Kit, stay here and I’ll go get something snack able and talk to the Ladies Who Run Things. Be right back, guys.”

  
“Sorry, nothing planned beyond getting you here and Chris to talk to you,” sighed the masked man, looking relaxed in his chair. “I should have said something last night when I got the horses, but most everyone else was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her. Only been married a year or so, but I didn’t think she’d want to hear it in the middle of the night. Things in the middle of the night tend to be emergencies around here. You wake up fast and hit the ground running.”

  
“Yeah, me and Sam, only been hitched a few months, now,” grinned Morgan, “but I know to be careful how I wake her. She’s mean if she’s not expectin’ it. All that martial arts stuff, the rape incident, can’t blame her at all.”


	38. Chapter 38

Christine came back then with a couple trays of vegetable slices, some little cups of what had to be dip and some sweet breads. A pygmy lady with an elegant sarong and head scarf had a stack of banana leaves and several cloths of riotous colors which turned out to be plates and napkins. Christine put the platters and little cups in the center of the table and promised to bring them back clean. The tiny woman nodded regally and left, without saying a word.

  
“Oh, Tana is mad at me,” muttered the Phantom, reaching for a slice of something that looked like a carrot. “I’ll have to get her something nice. Well, too late now. Try the green dip, if you like spicy. The red is milder.”

  
“Alright, to start, do either of you have any experience with the supernatural?” asked Christine, taking a vegetable that looked like a beet and dipping up the green stuff. “I got engaged to Kit, here, in Hawaii a year or so ago, and my engagement present, from his mother, was an ancient Egyptian pectoral, a necklace. This one here, you see.”

  
The necklace she wore was a winged scarab design, gold inlaid with either semi precious stones or faience, Sam couldn’t tell, and wasn’t sure how to tell, anyway. It was very beautiful and looked as if it had been made the day before. Wait, his mother? He was five centuries old, she must be more! Ah, well, metas. Sam reminded herself that she had met the Hidden, this was just the way the world was now. And had been for some time, apparently.

  
“It’s beautiful,” said Sam, meaning it. “I got a ring. This one, see? But, wow, that’s nice.”

  
“Yeah, but no one knew where we were, either of us, we hadn’t sent her any word of what we were doing, nothing. She knew, though. And as soon as I started wearing this, well, things started happening. He’s who and what he is, the Phantom, Ghost Who Walks, Keeper of the Peace, but lately he’s been marrying women with abilities. His mom has guardians, two New Zealand gods, me, this little trinket puts me in touch with five. And they tend to take me over and talk and act through me now and then. Are you familiar with the Egyptian pantheon?”

  
“What every archeologist knows, mostly,” shrugged Sam, fascinated. She knew a talking helicopter, this was no stranger. “Re, Isis, Ammon, Horus, my favorite, Sekhmet, Anubis, like that?”

  
“Specifically, Khonshu, Maat, Bes, Thoth and Sekhmet,” nodded Christine, her finger tip touching the thing slightly, as if by habit. “Sekhmet is really cool, but she is also very, very dangerous, and Bes is really funny and happy, and Khonshu seems kind of Goth, if you know what I mean, and Maat is only interested in truth, but this seems up Thoth’s alley. He really does know almost everything, especially about Egypt, and he’s quite fascinated by computers and the internet. He could tell you if this was Punt, if he wanted to. Probably other stuff, too. Oh, and we know how to get a hold of Anubis, if we need to. He’s, ah, what did he call it? Embodied, was it? Ah, can’t remember, but we met him, both of us. Looks just like the statues and carvings, too. Major sexy, those tall ears and the pointy nose.”

  
“See, Egypt worshiped their gods for thousands of years, their names are still known, their temples, their land still exists. They have power few other gods can match, even the ones currently worshiped. And they are, some of them, bored with the Duat, the afterlife. So, here we are,” said Christine, putting her hands up in a what can you do gesture.

  
“Anubis stuck me back together again after I died the most recent time,” shrugged the Phantom, as if that were no big deal. “He does good work. Not even scars.”

  
Most recent time, he had said, and Sam tried to just take that in stride. Put back together by a god, yet. Well, Egyptian myth said Anubis and his foster mother Isis were experienced with that. The Osiris myth, documented in the Book of the Dead. Meta, she reminded herself.

  
“And you can be possessed by those gods in particular?” asked Morgan, and Sam wondered how he was going to process all this. A tiny part of her brain was telling her to run like a rabbit, but she ignored it very hard. It was fascinating. What if you could actually talk to an Ancient Egyptian, god or no? Did any of them know the location of Alexander’s tomb? That had baffled people for centuries.

  
“Yep,” agreed Christine matter of factly. “Sekhmet takes over when she thinks things are getting out of my depth, and then, well, things can get kind of messy. She crushed a guy’s wrist, I mean, powdered the bones, once. Bes, he likes to have fun, but he has a serious issue with anyone abusing women or children. Khoshu is really useful after dark, he has an innate sense of where and when he is, and I mean exactly. Maat, well, no one can lie to me, she whispers in my ear that the truth is not in them. She’s a neat freak, too. Pesters me about leaving things out of place.”

  
“Well, do we need to make an appointment?” asked Sam, “an offering, a, what, libation, I think it was? I never even thought of talking to a god, so I’m not clear on the protocols.”

  
“Hmm, what do you do for a living, Sam?” asked Christine, thoughtfully. “You seem pretty educated, and learning is what Thoth likes to push. He might just decide you are a scribe of sorts and just tell you. Most ancient Egyptian scribes were minor priests of Thoth or one of the other gods.”

  
“Funny you should ask,” grinned Sam. “I write, or I used to, books and articles for various magazines. Also ran a small horse ranch. Always been a writer, though.”

  
“Ah, an acolyte,” said a deep, rather dry voice, certainly not Christine’s voice, though her lips were saying the words. Her eyes, formerly a kind of green y hazel, now glowed blue as if lit from within. “Ask your questions, scribe, and I will answer.”

  
“Wow, I’m honored,” said Sam, wide eyed. That glowing eye thing was sure not something a human could do. “Ah, we wondered if this area was the Land of Punt that Ancient Egypt traded with at one time. Trade routes are hard to trace when they were sea lanes. Queen Hatshepsut’s tomb has pictures of plants and animals and people from Punt, but no one now knows where that was. Not far from here is an excavation that might be, eventually, a part of that trade network. No building remains look Egyptian to me, but there might not have been buildings, either.”

  
“Egypt built in palm thatch and maybe a mud wall or two, unless for gods or the afterlife,” said that deep voice, a faint accent that Christine hadn’t had evident. “No one would have built much for a mere trade mission. But, yes, this place is not far from where trade was done. Punt was more of a designation of lushness, jungle, foreign to the inhabitants of the Two Lands. This, and most of equatorial Africa, qualified for the name. I cannot say if the site you mean was one used by traders from the Dynasties of Egypt, but they did come here.”

  
“Well, that and the scan Airwolf took will probably be really helpful to the students,” said Sam happily. “Thank you, um, oh, how do I address a god? I don’t want to be impolite, but I just don’t know the thing to do.”

  
“We are mostly informal, here,” remarked the dry voice. “You may call me Thoth, or Learned One, if you like. But I sense you have another question. Alexander, that upstart Greek fellow? Oh, his tomb. No, others have plans for that, I’m afraid. Nothing like looting, though, fear not.”

  
“He didn’t get mummified, did he?” asked Morgan, a bit unclear about that. “Not clear on all that stuff, sorry.”

  
“No, his Greek people preserved his body in white honey,” said Thoth through Christine. “Messy, but they wanted to look at it, and that stuff is almost clear. They put it all in a crystal sided coffin, with lead seals. No proper mummification, but he wasn’t an actual god, either, no matter what those fools at the Oasis told him.”

  
“Yeah, dunno how godly you are if you gotta make people say it,” shrugged Sam, familiar with the story. “Romans went in for that stuff, too. And frankly, I can’t see Ammon as an avatar, or twin or replacement of Zeus. Zeus was a horny old man, and Ammon at least seemed to have his pride. Zeus would sleep with anyone.”

  
“No, all that fusion of pantheons was purely Greek and Roman jealousy, as far as I could ever tell,” agreed the god inside the woman. “The Greeks and Romans were all like that, so of course their gods were, too. Well, Athena had some decorum, but most were just, well, animals.”

  
“Not actually done, I assume, then,” said Sam in satisfaction. “One of the reasons I always preferred Egyptian mythology over Greek and Roman. If you are a god, why act like a two year old with a bad tooth? Oh, well, not my business, I suppose, no offense.”

  
“None taken, young scribe,” said the dry voice, and the glow of her eyes faded and Christine reached for a cup of water and the pitcher.

  
“Usually worse throat after Sekhmet, she’s a little growly,” said the American, after drinking. “Thoth’s a bit more civilized in the voice, very precise. Bes, oh, man, can he cuss, usually during acrobatic fights he thinks are fun.”

  
“Kinda fun watching you throw SEAL combat instructors around like party favors,” chuckled the Phantom, still relaxed. “Once I got over you being able to do it, that is.”

  
“One guy, Kit,” she said severely, seeing a pair of husky little men with a dead pig strung on a pole between them. “Ah, Babudan, your son is going to feed us all tonight! What do you want for dessert? Pie or cookies? I ran out of chocolate last week, and sugar’s getting low, but we have some, still.”

  
“Pity, the ice cream is gone,” said the old man, smiling at them, his teeth all perfectly straight and white, gleaming in his dark face. “I vote for pie, but you know the children all vote for cookies.”

  
“Ice cream?” said Morgan, looking around the steamy jungle clearing in front of the Skull Cave. “How you folks keep ice cream in a place like this? Can’t hardly keep it in San Diego, at Sam’s place. Mostly melted during that last party we threw. The polo barbecue, her friends keep calling it.”

  
“Oh, industrial level freezer and refrigerator units back there,” Christine said, gesturing with a chip with sauce on it over her shoulder at the area of the cliff past the Skull Cave. “Solar powered most of the time, but got a water turbine for the rainy season, if we need it. Mostly used for medicines, special projects, but ice cream is a kind of party trick I drag out sometimes. Last it was a birthday party, and let me tell you, banana ice cream is fabulous. Mango has it’s fans, here, but I love the banana kind. Don’t know why I never saw it in stores back in California.”

  
“I thought you were Hawaiian?” mentioned Sam, finding that she liked the spicier sauce, but not so well as the milder one. Not much like salsa in taste, but good. Sweeter, not just spicy.

  
“Oh, met Kit there, I was on vacation,” said Christine, smiling, a smile that had some memory behind it. “No, grew up in San Diego, and where you gonna go that is better than San Diego and still be in the US? I mean, people pay to go to San Diego, so naturally, Hawaii. Not so many crazy people as Florida, see. Kit just kind of fell into it. We met, fell in love, acquired some deities, got tans, people tried to blow us up, got married, sorta, and here we are. Nothing unusual.”

  
“Oh, yeah, that sounds like a good story,” grinned the retired outlaw. “Still, I told you our story last night, so you two oughta go first. Sorry, ma’am, but seems kinda boring to tell at least one person the same story twice.”

  
“But I want to hear about this magic helicopter,” protested Christine, looking at her husband appealingly. The giant in purple silk seemed unmoved, though he was smiling. “Don’t I?”

  
“Ma’am, if you got on the radio or a cellphone, you might actually be able to talk to the magic helicopter,” Morgan laughed. “She ain’t hard to talk to, see. Got her fingers in all kinds of ‘lectronic communications stuff. Occupied tryin’ tuh find one of the pilot’s kin, I think, but seems like she mentioned Bengalla was now a hobby for her. Wonder if she and that Thoth feller might not hit it off?”

  
“That is a truly frightening idea,” giggled Christine, having almost snorted out a chip of some sort at the notion of the two entities meeting. “I might have to see if I can set it up.”

  
“I do owe the Lady and her friends a favor,” the Phantom said lazily. “I suppose we can say her actual name, here, where nothing is recorded, and since she isn’t here. The helicopter is called Airwolf, Chris, and the AI running her is fully aware and autonomous. Her pilots and her engineer are apparently part time agents for the Firm, and run ops for Archangel. She’s the most beautiful helicopter I have ever seen, and she is heavily armed and can turn invisible with what seem to be chameleon light panels. She has a very nice personality, in spite of being a war machine, and was very careful not to get anywhere near Hero.”

  
“Caitlin and I know each other, and we both ride,” added Sam, nodding. “She and the other crew came to our little barbecue polo game party a few weeks ago, and we got all caught up on things between us. Airwolf made our reservations for Bengalla for us while we were stuffing ourselves with leftovers on Sunday when it was just us. She’s been snooping around trying to help String find his brother, who went missing in action a while ago. It seems more likely that he was on some kind of covert thing, now, and since the Firm is clear of it, they’re starting into the files the Company and other agencies have. Dunno what she, they’ll do if he’s in Hydra hands, but it won’t be pretty, and it won’t likely be quiet.”

  
“Ah, does sound like I should, hmm, take an interest,” said the Phantom a little more seriously. “And I wouldn’t be at all upset to hear that story again, Morgan. I think we have some time before dinner, if you want to do some target practice, now that we have dinner taken care of. Difficult to find things to hunt if you do too much target practice, you see. From what you say, you were fast, for your day. And Sam says you were pretty accurate. But it never hurts to practice.”

  
“Oh, go on,” said Christine to the Phantom, “how fast can he be? Gunslingers are passe, now, anyway. Who do you think he is, the Masked Rider?”

  
“Well, as a matter of fact, ma’am,” said Morgan Wayne, nodding, “I actually am, or was. Part of that there story, yuh see.”

  
“No!” said Charlene, staring at them both with wide eyes. “Seriously? But, you’re dead, according to the dust jacket. And that was almost a hundred years ago, wasn’t it? How? Oh, you’re an immortal. Sorry, wasn’t expecting that.”

  
“Uh, no, ma’am, not an immortal,” said Morgan, wondering how that would be more normal. “See, time travel, in one certain place, seems to be possible. Gotta say, seemed way more likely to me than talking helicopters and kids dressed like spiders. Got no idea if other places like that exist, but we been keeping it secret, no one but me, Hawk and Sam know where it is. And the horses, but they ain’t gonna talk.”

  
“I guess not,” said Christine, still wide eyed. “Yes, I really want to hear that story. Maybe twice. How long can you stay?”

  
“If you have cell coverage, I can call my parents and see that they aren’t worried, maybe see if the Landrover got sent back to the Hotel,” shrugged Sam. “The tickets can be changed, no worries about that. Mom and Dad are staying until the hospital says Mom can go, but I don’t know when that will be. Three months of observation, was it? And I bet, hon, that she’ll have already called up her friends and some others to arrange the reception, our plans be damned.”


	39. Chapter 39

The Phantom gestured to Morgan and the two of them ambled up and into the Skull Cave, emerging a short while later with Morgan tying down a pair of quick draw holsters that were filled with handguns. What kind, Sam couldn’t say, and didn’t bother asking. She was pinned down by Christine Walker who wanted the full story from her, and wasn’t at all worried about how long it would take. By the time Sam had filled in the last detail, again minus the Batman parts, the aroma of roast pork was competing with gunsmoke through the clearing. The shadows were long, although the sky was still bright because they were in a valley, and Sam had made her calls.

  
“Mom and Dad are back in Mawitaan at the hotel,” she told Morgan after he and the Ghost Who Walks had wandered back to their table, now bare of anything but drinks, Charlene having taken back the dishes to the Ladies Who Run Things. “No more worries about the LandRover, either, it got back to the Hotel. So, eventually to Egypt, then Mom’s party. Maybe we can get kidnapped in Egypt, and have an excuse to avoid the party.”

  
“It’ll only be one night, Sam,” grinned Morgan, still wearing the guns as they returned. He seemed not to notice them. “And how long would it take before Caitlin found us, anyway? If you didn’t stomp ‘em into the ground in the first place?”

  
“Ah, I hate dressing up, hun,” Sam admitted to her husband. “And things are starting to not fit right anymore, too. So whatever I wear, it’ll be one and done, and if it’s my Mom’s party, it’ll have to be a dress or she’ll never let me hear the end of it. And dresses are so, ah, un-ridable.”

  
“Sam chooses clothes by whether or not she can ride in ‘em,” explained Morgan to the purple giant and his wife. “Not what they look like, nor even the color, much, just if she could ride in ‘em, if she had to. No heels, no filmy stuff, mostly pants and leather shoes. Wonder she didn’t have a helmet with us, but we came with very little luggage.”

  
“Yes, well, that’s perfectly fine,” said Christine, with a smile. “I understand that completely. Only reason I have on a sarong is I rode my horses early today, and I can get riding clothes in a minute, if I have to.”

  
“I’ll take you somewhere and get something made for you, Sam,” promised Morgan taking a cup of water and downing it. “Gotta be something you like. Maybe if you get some kind of fancy jewelry, no one will care if you wear something like that outfit we went to see the banker man in.”

  
“So, Kit, how does the Masked Rider stack up against the Phantom,” asked Christine, having noted that the guns were not back in the armory. “I got the story out of Sam here, and, man, it is wild. Not a bad thing to let Mr. Morgan keep the guns, though. Weren’t those the guns and belt that illegal logger had last month? He doesn’t need the things anymore.”

  
“He’s fast, Chris, really fast,” said the masked giant, relaxed in his big rattan chair. “Fast enough that I would prefer to be on his side, rather than whoever he’s shooting at. Accurate, too.”

  
“He shades me pretty good at the draw, ma’am,” Morgan told her, shaking his head. “Was we in one a them classic shoot out things, that really never happened, I’d be dead. But I don’t see ever bein’ on the bad side of stuff, so I ain’t worried ‘bout that. I ain’t no pirate, slaver, robber or poacher, and if’n I was a pothunter, Sam’d likely kill me first. Hm, for poachin’, too, I think. I am a killer, though, killed a lot of folks, come to that. But I’m retired, at least, the Masked Rider is retired. Still havin’ adventures, though.”

  
“Well, what’s life without a little adventure, hon?” said Sam, grinning at him. “I never figured we’d meet a five hundred year old immortal, but he isn’t as scary as the Hidden. I suppose he could be, if he wanted to be scary, but not too bad here. Heck, he isn’t as scary as the Batman, come to that. Ever meet him, Phantom?”

  
“No, I try to steer clear of Gotham, like any sensible person,” replied the Phantom, and though masked, Sam sensed an eye roll from the tone. “New York is odd enough these days. Pretty much has been since the Thirties. The Shadow, Doc Savage, the Spider, although most weren’t meta, back then. Even Chicago had some oddness with that Green Hornet fellow. He was not a criminal, no matter what the police thought. I always thought that most of those masked mystery men were somewhat influenced by a couple of masked men in the western areas of the country. That Zorro character in California, you, that guy with the white horse down in Texas.”

  
“Met ‘em,” nodded Morgan, as other folk started to come by, find tables or just sections of grass, as the shadows lengthened. “That Zorro guy was a mighty fine grandee sort of fella when I met him, had a huge rancho up near San Juan Capistrano Mission. Old guy, still moved like a cat. Had to turn him down when he tried to buy Midnight from me, but no hard feelings about it. He told me to go see what San Diego looked like, Sam, so, he’s kinda responsible for us meeting up. Don’t think he was psychic, he just suggested it.”

  
“You knew those guys, too?” asked Sam of the Phantom, wondering how he got to the Americas in the age of what would have been slavery still. At least in some places.

  
“Oh, there was a bit of overlap,” he said vaguely, and Christine smiled like she knew the story. “And the Phantom has a hideout in the American southwest called Walker’s Table by the locals. Been there since the early Fifteen Hundreds. Have ‘em all over the world, and sometimes need ‘em. Not recently, but there are times you can’t trust the locals.”

  
“Heard of Walker’s Table, somewhere in Monument Valley?” said Morgan, thoughtfully. “Heard tell it was haunted, so, apparently by you? Huh, well, that makes sense. You also that feller on the white hoss I had to outrun that one time? Guy figured I was wanted, tried to bring me in, but he didn’t ever kill folks, so I got out of his territory. Nice horse, though.”

  
“No, I don’t remember a white horse back then. Bay, it seems to me,” said the Phantom, and Christine almost convulsed with laughter. “Oh, leave off, Chris, you can tell them later. Did Sam tell you the time travel story, or do you want that one again? I’d really like to hear more about the helicopter.”

  
“You’ve been in her,” protested Sam, leaning against Morgan, sniffing the smell of roast pork. “I’ve never even seen the inside of the pretty thing. Bled on her, yes, seen the instrument panel, no.”

  
“Well, eat first, then talk,” suggested the Phantom’s wife, pointing at the huge tray of meat carried by four pygmy men to a sort of low bench in the middle of the little patio. A pile of banana leaves was carried in by elegantly dressed ladies and settled near the meat. Other folks brought in various other dishes and pots with food and set it in and around the meat and the Chief waved to the guests and said a few words to his people in a language Sam couldn’t identify.

  
“Honored guests, please begin,” he told them with a slight bow. “There is more meat still roasting, so do not fear any will go hungry. No one starves in the Deep Woods!”

  
“Okay, thank you, Chief Guran,” said Sam, getting up and taking a banana leaf she had had chips of carrot on before. “Ah, you want me to get you some, Morgan?”

  
“Don’t be silly, Sam, I’ll get my own,” said Morgan, guessing that the plates would take both hands. The leaves were not very stiff. “Go on. Smells amazing. I gotta get us a smoker or something for the house, let Hawk mess with it. Can I ask what you season it with, Chief?”

  
“Ginger, oranges and salt,” said one of the elegant ladies, this one in mostly pale blue. “Some lemon, a little papaya and some cardamom. Pepper, a bit of samaa oil and straight chocolate powder, no sugar.”

  
“Well, that sounds like we won’t likely get it exactly like this,” mused Morgan, taking his loaded banana leaf to the table. “Eating with fingers, I guess. Mmm, tastes as good as it smells, Sam. Wouldn’t have thought citrus for flavoring barbecue, or roast, anyhow.”

  
The small feast was apparently attended by the entire tribe, several other white people who apparently lived there, and an ancient man so stooped with age as to be difficult to tell if he was a tall person or a pygmy. After the feast was over, mostly cleared away and hands and faces cleaned up, everyone sat around near the guests and waited for a story. It turned out that what the tribe wanted to hear was what the Phantom had been doing in the last few days. He obliged with the story of the chase after the jewel thieves with his own point of view and at suitable times, roping in Sam and Morgan for their parts. The helicopter was quite the hit, especially the invisibility trick, and the children were taken with the enchanted princess aspect of the Lady Helicopter. Told in English, in deference to his guests, it appeared all the Bandar spoke or understood English as well as other languages than their own.

  
“Oh, yes, Thoth has to talk to this Airwolf,” said Christine, nodding. “I’ll go get cookies or pie for dessert?”

  
As predicted by the old hunter, the children won with the cookies, and Christine went off toward the Skull Cave, but off to the left a bit and behind some bushes. Shortly she was back with a tray of cookies, piled high and smelling fairly fresh to Sam. It took the place of the pig meat on the low bench, which Sam was beginning to think of as a coffee table. Full, and sated, Sam and Morgan only took one cookie apiece and sat back with satisfaction and interest.

  
The rest of the night was spent on some interesting stories, some from the hunters of the tribe, who had seen many ruins and ancient sites in the jungles, and some from the masked giant who had ranged farther around the country and the wider areas of Africa and Asia. Now and again, Sam would glance over to see a strange blue flash in Christine’s eyes, and wondered if her guardian gods were listening, too.


	40. Chapter 40

A guest house, apparently for regular sized people, was put at their disposal and they slept quite peacefully that night, waking late the next morning with the sun over the ridge line. Breakfast was bananas, fruits of odd but flavorful kinds and almost prosaic orange juice. Christine was nowhere to be seen, but the giant in purple took them to the paddock and chose a couple of horses for them and his stallion, who were soon saddled and ready. To go looking at wild life, he informed them, and after a brief discussion, cased a rifle on the off side of Sam’s mount.

  
“Not likely to need the guns, but preparation is the key to survival, in most cases,” he told them. “We are going off to see lions, maybe a tiger, elephants, perhaps some cheetahs. These horses know to stay with Hero, so be ready to ride for your lives, if he does run. We only mean to look, but surprise can be a killer, and it does happen, even to me. Devil will do his best, but if the wind is wrong, he can be fooled, too.”

  
Still, nothing much happened but a really nice sight seeing trip, with amazing pictures, as far as Sam was concerned. Really, you could get much better pictures of wild animals from horseback, she thought. And a good guide, she admitted, watching the wolf and his brightly clad master circle a herd of gazelles to move them out into the sunlight from the shade they had been browsing in. So carefully had it been done that the nervous gazelles did not actually run, simply drifting into the better lighting and holding their heads up in mild suspicion.

  
Morgan did see lions, a lazy pride around a low tree, some in the actual tree. They saw leopards twice, giraffes, zebras, some lowland gorillas who seemed perfectly happy to see their guide, going so far as to offer him a coconut, which he obligingly husked and cracked for them, keeping half and giving the other half back to the silverback who had handed it to him. Cape buffalo, apparently very dangerous, they saw from a distance, and hippos, also from a fair distance, warned by their guide of the volatility of the beasts’ tempers. They ate lunch in a shady space near a waterhole, the jungle at their back, the wide grassy plains before them, dotted with grazing herds into the distance.

  
“Mighty nice country,” remarked Morgan, seeing a dust trail in the distance coming their way. “Who do you suppose is heading out here, and should we take cover? I dunno the way you like to run things here, Kit.”

  
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just move behind the brush here with Hero and Devil,” said the Phantom thoughtfully. “Jungle Patrol, no problem, others, might be trouble. This is a place I’ve caught poachers before, since it’s on maps. But that could also be park rangers, who won’t like that you have guns and no guides.”

  
“Yeah, we’ll try to do the tourist bit, then,” nodded Sam, as the Phantom and his horse and wolf seemed to vanish into thin air. “Dang, he’s good at that, hon.”

  
“Blue Hawk couldn’t do better,” agreed Morgan as the vehicle, a LandRover, became visible as they drove nearer. “Well, one of those things you don’t like to drive, darlin’. So, what’s our excuse for bein’ out here with just a couple horses and a few guns?”

  
“The truth, we’re tourists, heard the country was safe, got some horses and came to look around. Don’t gotta get into details, probably. Hmm, no markings on the doors or anything, so likely not official, like Patrol or Rangers. Hey, Kit, any rhinos or elephants nearby? That’s the big poaching target these days.”

  
“Not that I’ve seen,” came a quiet voice from almost right behind them. Sam and Morgan carefully didn’t look around, as the people in the jeep could likely see them by now. “Still, might just be another tourist looking for pictures, so I’ll be nearby if there’s trouble. Don’t kill them, if they are poachers, Sam. The local tribe, the Dwezi, have jurisdiction over poachers. Their queen will judge them.”

  
“Do my best,” said Sam, who had the rifle next to her but had no intention of using it. “Can’t promise not to break ‘em a little round the edges if they get silly.”

  
The only reply was a snort from Morgan and silence from the Phantom, as they put away the remains of their lunch. Sam got a good picture with her phone of the rugged Land Rover as it headed toward them, as they were on a slight rise above the pond and next to the only cover. A couple of men got out of the vehicle and walked toward the horses, another got out and climbed to the top of the vehicle with a rifle and binoculars. The two approaching Sam and Morgan were wearing khaki safari outfits, not new, and each carried a rifle and wore a pistol. One was black, the other white, not looking particularly hostile.

  
“Hello,” said the black one, in rather English accented English. “I’ve never seen anyone on horseback out here before. Where did you two come from?”

  
“Originally or just with the horses?” asked Morgan, seeing that the safeties were on the rifles and the pistols did not look like a quick draw was possible. “Originally, well, that’s a long story, the horses, we borrowed ‘em from a friend this morning. I’m Morgan and that’s Sam, my wife. Just taking pictures, seein’ the sights. I kinda like this eco-tourist stuff with Sam. Relaxin’.”

  
“Horses, on the plains? Did you borrow them from the Jungle Patrol?” asked the white man, who seemed not to mind the black man taking the lead. “Not much their horses are scared of. I’m Walter Herzog and this is Dr. Zeb Tankersley, from Mawitaan University, part of the biodiversity study. Over on the Beast is Jeff Loefler, one of our students, and our guard. We were going to do a count of wildlife starting at midnight tonight to midnight tomorrow night, for the study. Several teams out besides ours, different parts of the country. Just the plains, though, not the jungles. Special arrangements must be made for that, and no guns.”

  
“Have you seen anything unusual?” asked the tall black man, interestedly. “I would love to look over your pictures so far. Helps to have a tally sheet with likely animals on it to put hash marks on, especially at night. I have a particular interest in peccaries, warthogs and wild pigs. More usual in the jungle, but sometimes found outside on the plains. Have you met the one at the Jungle Hotel? I helped raise him.”

  
“Don’t get him started,” warned Herzog, smiling. “He has a pet pig at home, too. Don’t know how many stories and pictures I’ve seen about Truffles. How about zebras? Any of those nearby? My wife Amy made me promise some pictures if I saw any. She keeps pestering me to meet a zebra, even though I’ve told her they are not like horses.”

  
“Yeah, my farrier does the hooves of the ones at the San Diego Zoo,” Sam nodded, pulling out her phone and hoping she had no pictures of the Phantom on the thing. “Have to trank ‘em to do their feet, else they’ll kill you. Here, scroll through that. Started out in the jungle, though, so, hmm, there.”

  
Morgan, watching Zeb Tankersley saw the man’s eyes go wide for a moment as he scrolled through the pictures on Sam’s phone, head and hat shading the thing so he could see the tiny pictures. Oops, Morgan thought. That cat is out of the bag. After a few more moments of looking at pictures, Tankersley handed back her phone and did a quick scan of the area, particularly the brushy copse of trees they were near. He looked at Morgan who stared him down as Sam and Herzog chatted about zebras. Tankersley seemed to come to a decision and resolutely faced the water hole, as if trying to think where to set up for the count.

  
“So, Zeb, any good pigs in that poke?” asked his friend, grinning at him, as he tried to decide on camera trap places, light pole placement, if they should camp or sleep in the Land Rover. Or under it.

  
“Ah, yes, yes, a few,” said the black man, nodding slowly. “I think we should put the lights on either end of the pond, then the camera trap there, in a place where there would be shadow. And sleep in the Rover, in shifts. Which shift do you want, Walter?”

  
“Oh, I’ll take midnight to eight,” said the slightly thicker white man, thinking about it. “Never sleep easily in the field. You and Loefler can fight over the other shifts, I suppose. I’ll go help him get the light poles out. You go find out how solid the ground is at that end of the pond, Zeb. Don’t want to have to try to put one back up in the middle of the night if a gnu rubs his nose on it and knocks it down.”

  
“Right,” agreed Zeb, as the white man walked down the slope. He turned to the two ‘innocent tourists’, one of whom was watching him very carefully. And, he noticed only now, wore a pair of handguns in what looked like well-worn holsters. “Uh, you folks friends with, uh, him?”

  
“Where we got the horses,” said Morgan, standing relaxed but alert. “Problem with that, son?”

  
“No! no, sir, just never actually saw him before,” said Zeb, blinking. “Huh, so, we good here? Promise, no killing animals except in self defense, just like the University requires. Part of the grant from the Walker Foundation, a sort of wildlife census, see? Legit, not poachers or anything like it. Tell him, okay? Heck, my uncle is in the Patrol, I know not to do anything like that.”

  
“Hey, we’re just tourists, from California,” said Sam, with a smile. “Nothing strange about it. And if you were poachers, you wouldn’t need to see him. I’d take care of it for him. What’s the count, now, Morgan? Four train robbers, three jewel thieves, only been in the country for less than a week. Hope not to find more fun til we get to Egypt.”

  
“He did say he wanted no more drama,” agreed Morgan, tightening his girth before mounting. Sam cased her rifle first, then did the same. “It’s like he doesn’t trust us not to find trouble.”

  
“Ooh, you’re that kind of tourist,” said Zeb, nodding. “Okay, nice to have met you, please have an interesting but boring visit to Bengalla, and come again.”

  
“Might just do that,” Morgan told the tall black man as they turned their horses and rode back toward the jungle’s edge, where he’d seen a flash of purple, and a sparkle of something shiny. “Good luck on your count!”

  
Moments later, down near the pond, Zeb began setting up the light pole with his group, wondering if he could have just had a glimpse of the legendary Phantom if he had watched a bit longer. A simple tourist has a picture of the Phantom on her phone with a gorilla? Not likely. Who had those people really been?

  
“Heh, that Zeb got a look at Sam’s phone and she must have had a picture of you on it,” Morgan told the Phantom, as they wound their way through the jungle. “He was real careful to let us know that they were there for a biodiversity study, counting animals. The Walker Foundation, he mentioned, promised no shooting unless something tried to eat them. Sam told him she’d take care of any poachers she ran across and he looked near fainting.”

  
“I’ve seen them before, they’re legit,” nodded the Phantom. “That Zeb character is not Bengallan, but he’s heard stories. He doesn’t know he met me at a fund raiser at the University once. I was, at the time, wearing normal clothes.”

  
“Heh, bet you made an impression on him even so,” said Sam, her camera in her hand, able to scroll through the photos in the shadows of the jungle. “Yep, oops, sorry, had one of you with the gorilla, sorry. You want me to delete it?”

  
“Why? you want to send it to a tabloid? No one here will think it odd, and I can’t say most other people will care. It’s not like I was Spiderman, you know. Everyone knows about him, Iron Man, the Avengers, the Batman. Who am I but a local folk tale in a small African country? In Africa, the local meta community is a bit more circumspect, Tarzan, the Panther, me, all considered mostly fictional by the rest of the world. Well, until T’challa went and joined the Avengers. I have to say, that kind of surprised me. Wakanda has always been circumspect, even secretive. Now they do foreign aid and tech exchanges with SHIELD. Bit of a reversal of long held policy.”

  
“Wait, Tarzan is a real person?” asked Sam, astonished. “Okay, no, never mind, metas, mutants, aliens and Hidden, the world is stranger than fiction, I gotta keep telling myself that. Somehow seems more weirdness after the time rift, though. I met Batman, Spidey and Caitlin before that, so, I really can’t blame that, I guess.”

  
“Now, this is why we came this way,” said the Phantom several minutes later. “I don’t think anyone has done any work on this site, or even knows it’s here. I couldn’t tell you anything about it, except that it is, as all the ancient ruins, supposed to be cursed. If you can give me an idea about the carvings or culture, I would appreciate it. Christine has an interest in those things, and wouldn’t mind taking a look, when we have the time.”

  
“I don’t know what that script or carving was,” Sam told them as they rode back toward the Deep Woods, or Sam assumed that was where they were going, she could not have said if they were still in Africa, she was so turned around. “I have no idea what that whole place might have been. It didn’t look Aksumite, and not Egyptian, and not Ethiopian. Part of it looked a little Mayan, but that is not my specialty, and I think it was just the platform building that made it look that way. I mean, I would have at least recognized the glyphs as Mayan, Aztec or Incan, even if I can’t read ‘keep out’ in any of those languages.”

  
“Ah, Thoth says no archeologist can read Keep Out, in any language,” laughed the Phantom. “Just means we need a little more research. I’ll ask around the local tribes about the place. A curse just usually means something bad happened there, and elders or chiefs or witch doctors wanted the bad thing not to happen to their people again. Sometimes it’s a murder, sometimes someone has something fall on them, accidental, mostly, but sometimes it’s someone keeping people out for bad reasons. Rarely, and very rarely, it’s an actual curse or supernatural thing. Not much of that sort gives Christine’s guardians pause, of course. Sekhmet has no fear of some little forest godling, she says, who was maybe around for a couple hundred years, and who’s name is no longer remembered. That seems to be a big thing, names and being remembered. Sekhmet herself was worshipped for probably three thousand years, and is still known and kind of popular. That apparently means power in the godly realm.”

  
“Well, that’s good then,” said Sam, filing that information away for later thought.

  
“So, how we gonna get back to Mawitaan, just go by the Hotel and catch the train back?” asked Morgan, not wishing to wear out his welcome and kind of eager to see Egypt, now. “Gotta say, I might need to study a bit more on this Egyptology stuff so I don’t look like a fool on the tour, or whatever. In my day, I think the routine was to rent a houseboat and go up and down the Nile, stopping wherever you felt like. But that was also back when no one could read ancient Egyptian, although a lot of fakes and quacks claimed to be able to, long as it supported their own con games.”

  
“Yeah, I think people drive these days, hon,” said Sam, “but I think my dad says there’s a rail line. I know that tourists usually have drivers they hire ‘cause the locals drive like maniacs. And I suppose we’ll find out when we get there. We didn’t have a set tour or group or anything, so we’ll just have to wing it.”

  
“I may know someone who can fix you up with that kind of thing,” said the Phantom. “Anubis, an actual god, doesn’t worry you, does he? I think he and Pamela are in the US right now, but they have a compound in Luxor that Chris and I stayed at for a few days. If Chris can get a hold of Pamela, she knows people who can do the guide and tour thing. The staff all used to be criminals, most in the tomb robbing game, but they met up with Anubis and they belong to him, now. Hmm, Thoth will know what can be done about that. He keeps track of everything.”

  
“Oh, we don’t need anything special,” said Morgan, a bit alarmed. All this talk of, and to gods was kind of worrisome. “Got plenty of money to stay wherever Sam wants. No need to go to any trouble.”

  
“Yeah,” said Sam, a bit unwisely. “We can find trouble on our own!”


	41. Chapter 41

That night, having had a more intimate supper with Christine and the Phantom in a kind of semi-outdoor kitchen set in a shallow cave near the Skull Cave, Christine told them about how she had met, and married the Phantom. The story was far more detailed than the night before, and included some stunning revelations about the Phantom and his Line. So, Sam thought to herself, not meta, but still, not the ordinary sort of person off the street. No stranger than my husband, and pretty darn impressive, anyhow.

  
It also seemed that Thoth had made the time to talk to the magic helicopter via the local cell network, or satellite dish or whatever they used here. He, Christine told them, was very impressed, and had found a new way to manifest, outside the amulet. It seems that Airwolf had taught the god of learning how to surf cyberspace.

  
“He just kind of went into the computer, and hasn’t come back out, yet,” shrugged Christine, setting out a banana pie for the four of them. “I hear from Bes that he’s having a great time, and that he and the helicopter are doing interesting things. I don’t know what kind of upgrades the Hidden did, but I bet Thoth does a few of his own. Maybe the Lady Helicopter _could_ fly across the ocean when he’s done with her. Oh, and Kurtz and Dravitz got back into Mawitaan last night, forgot to tell you, dear. Should be here in four days or so, since they figure on hiking it. Probably gonna try to sneak in, knowing them.”

  
“Who’re these jaspers, and they okay doin’ that?” asked Morgan, wondering about the local security. Weren’t the Bandar the security force? And if he couldn’t see them in action, how was anyone else going to avoid them?

  
“Oh, they’re retired SEALs, we met them about a year ago,” said Christine, nodding. “Converted to paganism, actually, when Sekhmet healed up Kurtz, and decided I looked like a lot more fun than Afghanistan or Iraq another time around. They’re just getting back from a little time off, and made me promise not to go anywhere until they got back. My guard dogs, sorta. Nice guys, but they keep trying to sneak in past the Bandar, and haven’t managed it yet. Babudan says they are pretty good, for galumphing great huge elephants.”

  
“What kind of vacation can you take, when you live in a place like this?” wondered Sam, having a vision of two Navy SEALs having mani pedis on some cruise ship. “I mean, it’s beautiful, the people are lovely, there’s lots of stuff to see, like Hawaii but with less night clubs. Oh, wait, guys. Girls, right?”

  
“I think there were graduations of nieces or something,” said the Phantom, thoughtfully. “But probably a bit of careful looking around for, ah, girlfriends, too. And they were going to go to the Getty Museum and the British Museum on their way back, to study up on things, particularly Sekhmet. Kurtz was a bit incensed to find that Hearst Castle has some more or less stolen statues of the Powerful One just standing around.”

  
“Yeah, seen it,” said Sam, recalling it. “Least they didn’t make a fountain out of them. No telling what damage water would do to artwork like that. Diorite or granite, they were, as I recall, dark grey.”

  
“Yes, many of the more important works of Egypt were stolen,” agreed Christine, finishing her pie. “Thoth and Maat are really kind of ticked about it. Seems some of those statues were put in those positions originally for good reasons. The obelisks, the avenues of sphinxes, that kind of thing. Thoth says that those relic hunting Nazi guys were bad, but the Italian was worse. Won’t even say his name. And they all agree that the worst offenders were Egyptians themselves.”

  
“Most of what the Nazi’s took were European works, I thought,” said Sam, both of them having left Morgan a bit behind on their discussion. “I know about the Old Masters, stuff like that, but not a lot of Egyptian stuff. Idiot Nazis always thought more of “Aryan” works than real history. As if they were actually cultured, rather than just barbarians with neater haircuts.”

  
“Ah, well, Hydra, some of the more, um, esoteric sorts of the inner circles, they wanted what they thought of as arcane power, though they couched it to most as symbolic, not actual magic. Some stuff, pretty important stuff, was never found, like the Crown of Upper and Lower Egypt, the Flail of Ammon and the Eye of Horus. The Eye of Horus was stolen from a museum in New York, oh, about late Thirties, I think. Details escape me, but Thoth knows them all. No sign of it after that, but rumors of the Crown in a collection in Russia, the Flail in Japan somewhere.”

  
“None of my guardian gods are too worried,” Christine told them, “because no one is using them, tapping their power. Hydra seems to have gone more alien tech, these days than ancient magic, though they’re still a danger. The Eye, no sign or whisper of it since then. Thoth seems to think we need to go look for it, for some reason, but where you gonna start, after almost a hundred years? Too bad we can’t go hire Indiana Jones or someone like that, but I think he died last year, didn’t he?”

  
“Well, I was supposed to have died a while ago, too, recall,” chuckled Morgan, sitting back with his glass of fruit juice. “And let’s not get started on you, Kit.”

  
“You know,” said Sam thoughtfully, drawing her finger idly around the wood grain swirls of the table, “I happen to know a time rift, but who knows how time itself runs on the other side of it. If we were to go back to the time of the theft, maybe we could stop it. Or, to keep from messing stuff up, just bring it back here and now. Would neatly explain no whisper of the wadjet thing for ages, yes?”

  
“I think that’s a really bad idea, Sam,” said Morgan seriously. “I mean, the idea of you in my original time was bad enough, but you and me with Nazis and Prohibition and gangsters and hell, you’d have to wear a dress!”

  
“Well, if we were gonna do that, hon,” said Sam, grinning at him, “we’d first want to find the Jones guy, or, hmm, the Shadow, maybe, but not Savage. Doc Savage would just want to study it, not let us take it. And he’d want to study the time rift, too. No, not him. And how would we get from San Diego to New York? Ride to Julian and then to El Cajon, then LA and take the train to New York? I don’t think planes were easy to take then, although, PanAm? maybe. But money now, even cash, not the same as money then, too. True, guns would be easy to take back and transport, but I don’t like that that would be all the edge we have. And I still got no idea about how time runs there. We come out in the future, we are screwed.”

  
“Heh, you need to take the Magic Helicopter back with you,” said Christine with a grin. “Fly through, zip, you’re in New York, catch the bad guys, get the McGuffin, back in the helicopter, zip, back home, and invisible the whole way. No interference with history or the past, in and out. No need to get hold of anyone there. Safer.”

  
“Oh, no, we can’t do that,” said Sam, thinking about it. “Airwolf seats four, only four, you know that, Kit. Pilot, copilot, engineer, passenger. And if we wanted to do that, who would we leave behind? Me? Morgan? Caitlin? Dom? No one flies pilot but Hawke, I’m not even sure Airwolf would let anyone else sit pilot.”

  
Sam’s cell phone rang, her horse’s whinny, making Kit and Christine smile, and Morgan raise an eyebrow in enquiry. Who knew where they were? Sam’s parents? Hawk and Brooke?

  
“Hello? Oh, just a minute, please,” she said, then put the phone down on the table between them and touched it. “Okay, speaker on.”

  
“Yes, this is Thoth,” said a deep, smooth voice, a bit dry and strangely British accented. “I have been having a delightful time with our Lady of the Howling Winds. And I have been listening in on your conversation. The Wadjet, the Eye of Horus, you call it, must be in safe hands, it is terribly dangerous in profane ones. It could easily cause more destruction than my new friend. I find this time shift idea quite dangerous, but it does appear possible. However, I believe someone must first go to the place it was taken, and see if there are current traces. As the only ones still sensitive to such things are Anubis, who is in California with his new child, and we five of the Amulet, it seems to be up to us. We need to see if Anubis can do this, and I shall explore the nature of time, to see if I can measure any future passages.”

  
“Hmm, lets see, first time I went back, took about, oh, two, three hours, then went back into the present, seemed nothing odd,” said Sam. “Then, after four days in the present we went back to the past, and I think a week had passed, maybe eight days. Then I was in the present for a month, exactly thirty two days, and Morgan went three years, he said. You got exact figures, hon?”

  
“Afraid not,” regretted the ex outlaw. “But it might be a bit more than three years, not by much, though.”

  
“Ah, that may be helpful,” said the god in the phone. “I will try to find us answers without transport of my lovely new friend to the past. I can do some things, but fuel, ammunition, those are physical and require a different skillset than mine. I think I must talk to the Powerful One. She would love my new friend.”

  
“Yeah, jet fuel and fifty cal rounds were not easy to get in the Thirties,” guessed Sam, thinking about it. “I don’t know what kind of gas goes in Magic Helicopters, come to that. I know they didn’t have missiles. But what could need blowing up in the Thirties, that we’d need missiles? Besides, invisible, right? It’s the seats four part that is the real problem. No, I think we’ll just have to get a couple of horses we can risk time travel on.”

  
“You could sit on my lap, Sam,” Morgan told her, grinning. “Dom wouldn’t mind much. Heck, cross the country in what, an hour? My legs won’t even go to sleep.”

  
“No, you don’t get it, hon,” said Sam, a little impatient. “If we go back to the Thirties, a big if right there, and if we gotta find this wadjet thing, we need someone who knows what it does, what it looks and feels like. Someone familiar with it. That means either Thoth or Anubis, or one of their, uh, priestesses? The Princess of the Howling Winds would be convenient for us as far as travel and muscle, but how do we find the thing? We’d need an exact date of theft, and what if we get there months or years beforehand, or just after? We can’t just stash Milady in a barn somewhere and get jobs in retail in Depression Era New York.”

  
“Sam, we got tons of money, just take some gold back with us,” Morgan said, shrugging. “It was worth more back during the Depression, as I recall. We wouldn’t need to work. And if Dom was with us, heck, he lived through that time period, he’d know what to do and who to see.”

  
“No, the thing itself, the Wadjet of Horus, it was a specific one, not just any old Egyptian amulet from some royal mummy or something, isn’t it? Thoth, there were lots of things that looked like that, weren’t there? It seems to me that many mummies were destroyed just to get to the amulets that were wrapped with them, mostly scarabs, wadjets and djed pillars. How will we know which one is the real one, if we get there? Dom and String aren’t going to be any help with that. Nor am I, and I don’t think Caitlin knows Egyptian from Roman.”

  
“I see, yes, you need to either borrow the Amulet, or Anubis himself, or perhaps a temporary copy of the amulet, a cloned version I believe they call it? I think your phone would do nicely for that, as it happens. This is quite a good piece of equipment, actually. Oh, nice pictures, too. Ah, yes, that will not be a problem, I think. And such a large memory, mostly empty. Yes, easily able to accommodate me, in this form. No need for Anubis to leave his Pamela or Candace.”

  
“I see Thoth has written himself into your expedition,” said Christine with a smile. “And what sneaky things did you do to the Lady, Thoth? I know you probably did something.”

  
“The two of us explored the possibilities of magic,” said the god’s voice from Sam’s phone. “She had no experience or knowledge of magic before, and wondered, as you kept calling her the Magic Helicopter. Now, well, she is a quick study, that cub. And not likely to find magic a problem in the future, or be defenseless against it. If she is not a god, yet, she is definitely a greater urshu in power, and quite a nice person.”

  
“What’s an urshu?” asked Morgan, figuring something like an angelic power, if less than an actual god. “I don’t really know that word.”

  
“Translates to more than angelic level, less than godly,” said Christine, with a serious look. “Almost demi-god, but not quite. Got translated into Arabian myth and legends as genies or djinn. Most were not evil, but some were. Solomon was supposed to have bound many to objects and enslaved them. You know, like in the Aladdin story.”

  
“My mother and father met one, once,” said Kit, as if that were entirely reasonable. Sam told herself she had just been speaking with a god, it was probably truth. “They are a race of creatures not entirely of this dimension, I think. She told us about it when we were young. He was nice enough, she said, and seems to have saved my father’s life for her. Still keeps in touch, I think.”

  
“Ah?” said Thoth’s voice, from the phone. “Interesting. You are such a wonderful source of entertaining knowledge, my dear. I shall see what can be found of this creature. He, too, might be useful in this adventure.”

  
“I think that might be a little problematic,” sighed the Phantom. “His kind, he said, was really only interested in women. At least, he was. And the price for his help for my father’s life was my mother’s help with being alone for some thousand years in the cave they were stuck in. Not sure that is gonna work out for us.”

  
“Well, one can only ask,” said Thoth, rather cheerfully, it seemed to Sam. “I shall go see what may be done. Good bye seems to be the signal.”

  
“Huh, sure, easy, get the woman to pay the price,” said Sam, eyebrow raised. “I don’t know how that seems no problem to a god. Sex, was it, Kit? With a non-human, yet. Yeah, no. Gonna find another way to do this, if we gotta. Morgan, me, maybe someone else, we can take some horses through, make it to El Cajon, catch a train to LA, then maybe take a plane to New York. Find the McGuffin, kill the Nazis, take the McGuffin back home, get it here. No need to involve any more weirdness than that, surely. And I can never tell my mom anything about this. Never.”

  
“What? Don’t want her to think you weren’t just sightseeing in the jungle? Having dinner with some old friends?” teased Morgan, taking the dishes to the sink and washing up. “Not going to tell her that we’re planning a time travel stunt to get a magic dohicky from Nazi thieves so the world can be safe from destruction? I can see why some parents say their children don’t tell them anything.”

  
“Well, you don’t even know if the time travel rift, which I note that you have been very careful not to locate to anyone, is big enough to take something the size of the Lady,” said Kit, as Sam took the rest of the silverware to the sink. “It might not be big enough, and even if it were, I wonder if the size or composition of whatever passes through might not change the stability or velocity of time on one or another side. Really, it seems very risky. Much more likely that we could track the thing with Anubis or the Amulet here and now. Chris, can you get Anubis and Pamela to meet our friends in Cairo? A short tour of all the interesting places, including those with objects of power, or former resting places of power, and then a side trip to New York?”

  
“Heh, yeah, that would be way easier, and we should eliminate the possibilities before we jump right into time travel,” agreed Christine. “We might still have to do it, but best to get the possibilities out of the way. Those, as I see it, are first that no Nazi took the Wadjet, it was an inside job, second, that it was stashed somewhere nearby, or in New York, and no one returned for it, third, that someone other than the Nazis got it, however, and have it now, and fourth, that the Nazis took it, but it never made it out of their hands. That last would be harder, since that might mean anywhere in South America, North America, Europe, even Africa, but with no one using it, there may be no trail to pick up.”

  
“I’ll call Pamela and see what she says,” said Christine, getting up and going toward the cave mouth. “Sit tight, guys, I’ll be right back. I don’t carry my phone around here.”

  
“So, tell us about Anubis,” said Morgan, knowing that the name was a god of ancient Egypt, dog-headed and having to do with funerals. “I know some names, some pictures from Sam’s books, but no specifics. I guess I gotta get used to this kind of thing if I’m married to Sam. But gods, that’s pretty different. Sam keeps sayin’ metas, mutants, Hidden, supers, just how the world is now, roll with it. Interesting, though, not boring. And not about to give her up, even if I gotta put up with that.”

  
“Hmm, my friend Pamela, from San Diego, used to ride at my barn,” Christine told them, sitting back down with her phone. “She got involved with a guy who was dirt, and just before the wedding, he dumped her. She got her back up and went to Egypt on the tour without him. Well, she’s an expert, reads and writes and speaks Ancient and modern Egyptian, quite the historian, and the tour she was booked with was bogus, with some cultist guy leading it. She called him out on it, and next thing she knows, he’s about to make her a human sacrifice to be able to blackmail all his little followers. But he chose a chapel of Anubis in Hatshepsut’s tomb, and Anubis didn’t like the sacrilege. And he manifested, brought the statue to life and threw out all the cultists and their leader. Not Pamela, though. He and Pamela, she says, got down and dirty, for three whole days and nights. Anubis dotes on her, she loves him, they have a kid, Candace, in California. But before they left the country, they set up house at a compound in Luxor, near the eastern edge of the city, and Anubis started cleaning up the criminal elements by judging them. Salvageable ka, you got to live as his servant, irredeemable, the body vanished, the soul consumed by Amat, he says.”

  
“They are all quite devoted servants, having no doubt of Anubis’ power,” added the Phantom. “And most are former thieves of artwork and relics, quite expert in the things you seek. I trailed some thieves to the Temple of Mut, near their compound. They caught me, shot me, beat me pretty close to dead, and were about to start looting when Anubis and Pamela showed up. Pamela and Anubis put me back together, managed to get what was left of me back to their place, and Christine came barging in a day later. Got to know them fairly well. Anubis has taught Pamela magic, and continues to do so, and they now have a little girl. I don’t think they have any money troubles, Anubis appears to be able to make gold.”

  
“Convenient trick, that,” said Morgan, nodding. “Does he look like that dog thing Sam had a picture of, the black dog with gold highlights? Seem kinda, well, odd, having a kid with that, um, sort of thing.”

  
“Oh, he is a very nice looking fellow, except for the head,” said Christine, waving a hand. “Tall, the very ideal Egyptian of dusky reddish skin, perfect proportions, just like a carving come to life, but with that elegant jackal’s head with beautiful eyes, really nice jewelry, cloth of gold kilt. Nothing odd in Pam falling for that guy. And the two of them madly in love, no doubt of it. But he’s a god, he can change his shape to that jackal that you see pictures of from Tutankhamun’s tomb, and then he just acts like he’s Pam’s dog. That works okay other parts of the world, but no one in Egypt is fooled. Lot’s of evil eye charms sold around Luxor these days.”

  
“Shape changer? Convenient,” said Sam, trying to recall any depictions of Anubis in completely human form and failing. Always a jackal or a canine head on a human form. Well, a tiny bit kinky, but who was she to say? “And is he able to do the thing that your gods do with the amulet, too? That would be seriously useful for travel or concealment. Did those cultists ever cause him trouble? I don’t know anything about what gods consider worship or if they need it or even want it.”

  
“Hang on, their number is ringing,” said Christine, and then said “Yes, this is Christine Walker, is Pam there? Yes, thank you, I’ll wait.”

  
“Their butler,” she told the rest. “Guy kidnapped her and Anubis gelded and enslaved him. Says that’s how a queen should be served. Still doesn’t get that no one has servants now.”

  
“Hey, Pam, yeah, long time. No, everyone’s fine. But we got a slight problem. Do my guys and Anubis talk, or whatever? Well, maybe they should. Anyway, more details that way, probably. But I got a couple friends here, they’re going to Egypt soon, kinda touristy stuff. No set itinerary, but they got homework, kinda. You got any recommendations for tour guides or that kind of thing? Heh, you get Thoth to talk to Anubis, you can find out all about them. Yeah, that kind of friends. Oh, you are? When? Yeah, well, I think Bengalla has a flight to Luxor, but might stop in Cairo first. Can Nigel get someone to pick them up? Morgan and Sam Wayne, yeah. No, married. She’s got a degree in archeology, hates pothunters, tomb robbers, Anubis will love her. He’s a hunk with a seriously entertaining backstory, yeah. Okay, if anything changes, call me.”

  
“Well, they were gonna be in Luxor in a week, anyhow,” said Christine, smiling as she put down her phone. “Omar is already in Luxor, getting things ready. Nigel is coordinating travel, like usual. He’ll get someone to meet you in Luxor, and arrange tour guides and travel. Their little girl is a doll, growing like a weed, something about the divine half speeding things up. Last I saw her she was a couple months old, and looked like she was three. Talked, walked, all that. Has a couple nannies, apparently witches. Oh, and they have their own jet, since Anubis learned to fly. Loves that thing. Had a falcon face painted on it.”

  
“I guess if you can make gold, you can afford a jet, and lessons,” said Sam with a grin. “He did take lessons, didn’t he?”

  
“I think he hired a pilot, then picked his brain,” said the Phantom, his relaxed manner not fooling Morgan. He could be out of that chair and gone in a second if something needed doing. “Seems quite competent, and I do have a license. His area of magic, his focus, he calls it, is not air, but I think he could do enough, in an emergency, if he had to, even if the plane came apart. He’s the real deal, god-wise. His focus is, according to him, mummification, magic and justice. And one of those just isn’t done these days, so he’s kind of able to concentrate on being a husband and father. First time I got a look at him, after they put me back together, I figured I was dead, him just sitting there. Said to myself, “well, Ramses was right after all.””

  
“Heh, bet that was a shock,” said Sam, picturing it. “But he wasn’t doing the conductor of souls thing with you?”

  
“No, says other gods do that in Egypt now. I was a special project, and only because Pam asked him for my life. According to him, my soul was already gone when they found me, but he got it back and fixed me up enough to house it again. Don’t remember that, but it took a lot of fixing. Shotgun wound, broken bones, punctures and blood loss, that I can recall. Chris wasn’t with me, fortunately. Pam will only say I was a mess, no details.”

  
“Oh, maybe if I had been there, Sekhmet or Bes would have been of help,” said Christine, obviously an old argument. “She’s a cat, after all, and a hunter. She might have known they were there and you could have avoided being shot. Maybe not, but still.”

  
“And maybe you got shot, too,” said the Phantom firmly. “No, I don’t want that to ever happen to you, Chris. My job, my risks, not yours.”

  
“So, how soon we gotta be in Egypt, then?” asked Sam, sidetracking this discussion, although Morgan was fascinated. “I mean, if they’re going to be there, do they mind us being there, too?”

  
“All will be ready in four days time,” said a voice that definitely wasn’t Christine’s, her eyes a green glow of oddly friendly light. “Anubis and his consort will be pleased to have you as guests, and other plans may be made. Worry not over details until then, for Thoth will have more information soon. And say hi to Candace for me!”

  
“Ah, that was Bes,” said the Phantom, as his wife went for her drink. “I’ve got pretty good at telling them by voice and eye color. He loves Anubis’ little girl, too. Had Chris playing horsie with her for hours last time. Hardly needed, since they live in Rancho Santa Fe and have real horses.”

  
“Huh, then I guess we gotta get going, if we mean to be in Luxor by then,” said Sam, regretfully, figuring it in her head. A day or so to get back to the Hotel, another to get to Mawitaan, then book a flight and head to Egypt. Somewhere say good bye to her parents, allow for some delay or difficulty. Yeah, they could make it if they started tomorrow morning.

  
“Yeah, but I got an idea to get a little alternate communications net set up,” said Christine, putting down her cup, and standing up. “What have we got in the MTR that we can spare for a substitute amulet, Kit? Don’t want too gaudy, but something we can maybe use as a focus, radio, something like that. Bes says they can’t manifest in other dodads, but they can speak through them. Might be helpful.”

  
“What, my phone was good, didn’t Thoth say so?” asked Sam, wondering what the MTR was. Full of gaudy stuff?

  
“Oh, right, better,” agreed Sam, “unless you lose it, I suppose. Lots of people steal phones, now, more than wallets, especially Cairo. But if you get another, then they can find you again, too. If milady Helicopter can find you, surely Thoth or the others can, too.”

  
“Still, I’ll think about it,” said Christine. “Not like I’m gonna get to be much help, especially since I promised I wouldn’t leave home until Kurtz and Dravitz get back. Not even to take you guys to the Hotel.”

  
The next morning, as they saddled their horses, Christine came to see them off and handed Sam a little leather pouch, the flicker of color behind her hazel eyes.

  
“Found something anyway,” she said, tying water bottles to the saddles. “Figured I might as well. Thoth said they’d work, but that he’d prefer the phones.”

  
Once mounted, Sam took a look inside the pouch. There lay a long string of golden pearls, no clasp or fastening visible in the dark suede pouch. Sam’s mother had mentioned Mori golden pearls, and Sam recalled them to be pretty expensive. Not something Sam ever wore, really, but if it made people happy, she supposed she could do it. Sam actually didn’t like things around her neck or even wrist or fingers, especially not since the rape incident. Maybe she could give them to her mother, if gods didn’t need them.

  
“Thanks, Chris,” Sam told her, kind of surprised. “So, MTR means?”

  
“Oh, Minor Treasure Room,” said Christine, with a laugh. “Should have at least shown you the Major Treasure Room. Oh, well, come back again and see that. Sure you’d love it. Might have to put the Wadjet in it, after all.”

  
“Or maybe you come to see us, play polo, barbecue, who knows what else,” said Sam, with a smile. “You do play polo, right?”

  
“You can teach us,” said the Phantom, as he leaned down to kiss his wife and then turned his horse to leave. The other horses followed with no urging from their riders, used to following the stallion. “I think Chris had a mallet, played some when she was younger, but I never did. My mother was an olympic rider for Bengalla in Eventing, though. Montreal Olympics, along with my aunt. No medals, she was actually there for the terrorists.”

  
“No terrorist things happened at Montreal,” said Sam as they rode, still out of reach of the waterfall sounds. “Not that I recall. Oh, she rode against Princess Anne, then.”

  
“Long story,” said the Phantom, as they came to the tunnel. After they were past the noise of the waterfall, he told them the tale, as they rode through the thick forest, with pauses for pictures of various wild animals. They got to the Hotel near dusk, got off their horses and bade the Phantom farewell, then walked into the lobby, disheveled but on schedule. Unperturbed, the desk man handed them their key, made sure they had dinner reservations and informed them that Sam’s parents had left two days before for Mawitaan.

  
A shower and change of clothes, and they were dining on the terrace with the glow of stars above and carefully attentive waiters hovering nearby. Sam supposed that they were curious as to where they had been, but doubted they’d drop enough information over the delicious dinner to scratch that itch. And that night they made love to the sounds of the savannah and then Sam took another shower.

  
“What, I’m storing up clean,” she said as Morgan laughed at her in bed. “I might be grungy again soon, so now I feel extra clean. At least we don’t need to get up early.”

  
Eventually they boarded the train and headed toward Mawitaan, the same tickets apparently still good. As they still had nothing but their phones, a laptop and a change of clothes, it all fit in a backpack. Sam carried her laptop and booted up the lidar scan Airwolf had sent of the dig site. It showed a lot more area and buildings than had been obvious from the ground, even after the heroic clearing done by the students. Sam forwarded it to the email of Sulieman, as it was the only address she had. A girl sitting next to her was interested and Sam explained that it was a ground radar map of a lost city in the jungle they had visited.

  
“But how did you get it?” asked the girl, maybe twelve, and with reddish dreadlocks and beads in her hair. “I know about airplanes and helicopters, and there hasn’t been one around here in weeks. Did you have equipment that you left there?”

  
“Oh, a friend of mine made a survey a while back, and I only got to see it just now,” said Sam, carefully not saying how far back. “We went on a trip into the jungle to see the city ruins, then visited the Dwezi tribe, and some other friends. Now we are going to see my parents in Mawitaan, then go to Egypt. This site in the jungle might be an ancient Egyptian trading site, but I have to say I don’t see much on this scan that says Egypt to me.”

  
“Hah, my grandpa lives in Wambesi lands,” said the little girl, Mitana, “and I know how fast stuff gets eaten up by the jungle. The chicken coop Granny had two years ago is almost gone, now, and you can just barely see the cinder blocks they used for the corners. And Egyptian stuff is really old, isn’t it?”

  
“Three thousand years ago, maybe,” said Morgan, an eye out for animals, but they were going through the farmlands near the coast. “We know they probably left little remains but maybe artifacts. Still, this says how big the place is under all that growth, and maybe what the buildings were. Like, isn’t that a road, and that a house?”

  
By the time they got to Mawitaan, half the car had contributed ideas about possible uses for the tracery of structures in the diagrams. No one, in Sam’s opinion, was probably correct, but no one cared. And as Airwolf herself had stripped off any identification of the surveyor, that was no problem. One engineer on the trip wondered how to get such a thing of a geological site he was about to work on for a bridge.

  
“Ground penetrating radar,” Sam suggested, as they began to slow for the station. “Works great, but it is a specialty.”

  
Eventually, after another confusing ride through the city, they got to their hotel, changed clothes and found Sam’s parents. After a very nice dinner, and an almost fictional account of their jungle trek, they made it to bed, reservations on a plane to Cairo the next afternoon. That left a half day to either shop or go browbeat the university about their field archeology program. After a bit of yawning arguments, they decided on shopping. Emails would do for the browbeating, Sam decided. After all, she could enlist Chris and Kit, if she had to see things straightened out. Walker Foundation, she thought, as she drifted off. Heh.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this might have needed to be two chapters

The next morning they made a trip to an outdoor market, just to see what was to be seen. Their tour guide driver assured them that this market was less frequented by pick pockets, but to keep their phones and wallets under guard. Wandering through the market was fun, but Sam wasn’t tempted by the jewelry or perfumes, pottery or sunglasses. Morgan was fascinated by the wide variety of guns in one booth, talking about them with the man for almost an hour. Sam did find some wood carvings that she really liked, and once she found that the artists would ship them for her, spent quite a bit of money. One man had a good eye for muscle and proportion, the other had a knack for implying movement.

  
“We were in the Museum a week or so ago,” she mentioned to the two, as they carefully tagged her choices. “Do you have any of the Phantom? They had some really nice pieces, but not for sale.”

  
“Do you want a good luck piece or an artistic piece?” asked Jomo Kisha, the movement man. “And how large?”

  
“Hmm., realistic, I think,” said Sam, seeing Morgan still talking guns with the armorer. “Not life size, though, takes up too much room, that guy.”

  
“You’ve, ah, met him?” asked John Nyota, hesitantly, “I’ve never seen him, myself.”

  
Sam scrolled through her phone photos and found the gorilla one. She passed it to the two artists, who got very excited, talking to each other in Bengallan. After a few minutes enlarging parts of the picture, they returned her phone and began sketching rapidly on two different pads of paper. Jomo looked up at her with a grin.

  
“You get that a little later than the others, Lady Phantom Friend,” he said, glancing at the work his friend was doing. “We have to find the right wood for this! Two hundred American dollars for the piece plus shipping. We will keep your record on file for the sale. Do you want it stained, or just natural wood with sealant?”

  
“Whatever the artist feels like,” said Sam seriously. “We got a new house, with hardly anything in it, so if I use your artwork to decorate a room around, it’ll be great. Usually I have horse themed rooms, so this will be nice.”

  
“Hey, Sam, collecting pretty stuff?” said Morgan, approving of her taste. This was not tourist kitsch, but real art. “Nice work.”

  
“Yep, I sure am,” said Sam, waving at the two artists, John not looking up. “What you find with the gun guy, hon?”

  
“Almost as tightly controlled here as at home,” said her husband as they strolled past a stack of hides, the seller arguing with a woman in French. “Wide variety of stuff available, though. Not for hunting, so much, as defense. Lots of folks worried about neighboring countries, he told me.”

  
“Nothing a magic helicopter couldn’t fix,” whispered Sam in his ear as they passed a place selling potted plants. “If someone were to ask, that is.”

  
“What came to mind,” nodded Morgan, as they exited the market and hailed a cab. “Time to get our stuff and head for the airport, I think. You think you supported the local economy enough?”

  
“Well, two artists, anyhow,” agreed Sam, reflexively checking her phone and purse. “And then to Egypt. The connecting flight will be a close thing, in Cairo, but if we get delayed, it’s supposed to be a pretty nice airport. If we miss it, we’ll just get another, or drive to Luxor.”

  
“You were right about flying, Sam,” he told her, as they were driven through the town toward their hotel. “Flying is kinda fun, really fast, but you don’t see much of the land from up there. Some of the people, maybe a little too close.”

  
“Still better than a boat, though?” teased Sam, as they paid the cabby and went into the hotel. “Way my parents talk, it’s mostly just a floating buffet. Not what I want in a vacation.”

  
“Yeah, I find what you want in a vacation is showers and adventure, not floating around nibbling at food,” teased her husband, as they packed. “Not unreasonable. Gotta say, I do like a shower every day better than a rinse every week or so, like me and Hawk used to get. 'Less it was raining. That was not much fun, and somehow you didn’t really end up cleaner.”

  
They made their flight easily, arriving in Cairo late in the evening. To their surprise, they were met at the airport by an Egyptian man with a sign that said Wayne. He was well dressed, in light colored suit and tie. He bowed to them and explained that the plane to Luxor was cancelled for the day, but would be available tomorrow, due to technical difficulties. He was tasked with getting them rooms and taking care of any trouble, unless they wanted to drive the rest of the way, in which case, he would arrange that.

  
“And how long a drive is it, Mr. bin Hussein?” asked Sam, as they waited for their luggage.

  
“About eight hours, perhaps nine,” allowed the man, who had introduced himself as Omar bin Hussein. “If you prefer to drive, there are sights to see on the way, but long stretches of nothing much. If you would like to wait a few more days, I believe my master will be amenable to stopping here and picking you up, as he arrives in three days time. It was my understanding that you need someone versed in magic for what you do, so I myself am useless, although I am able to show you the pyramids, the Sphinx and other such things here in Cairo with competence.”

  
“What about it, Morgan?” asked Sam, as their meager luggage came down the baggage carousel. “Feel like a couple days to see the Pyramids and such? Would be nice to see the museums. Always wanted to see Tutankhamun’s treasures. Missed ‘em when they came to San Diego, that once.”

  
“I do think that sounds like a good idea, Sam,” agreed Morgan, hauling up the bags and having them taken from him by an almost indignant Omar. “Gotta say, I’d love to see the sights, Omar. But if it’s gonna inconvenience Ms Pamela and her husband, we’ll just take the next flight up.”

  
“No inconvenience, sir,” Omar assured them, “I am the manager of the Lord’s estate here, and he himself, only an hour ago, suggested it to me. The Falcon of Anubis will be more than happy to pick up passengers here, as well as fuel. The airport in Luxor is much smaller and fuel more expensive. And maintenance more difficult to get. Not that that is a problem for my master.”

  
“Yeah, probably not,” nodded Morgan, as they walked out onto the covered front sidewalk of the airport where people were hailing cabs and getting picked up by family or friends. A big white limo waited with a driver at the door, and Omar loaded their two slim bags into the trunk as the driver held the door for them to enter. The interior smelled of leather and some kind of perfume. Sam surreptitiously rolled down the window a little, as the perfume was not doing her sinuses any good in this dry air.

  
They rolled through the outskirts of Cairo, a hodge podge of modern streets, bridges, wide open fields, apartment complexes and crowded shops. Traffic, as Sam’s parents had once told her, was quite intimidating, and they were glad of the driver, who at least wouldn’t get lost. Sam and Morgan wouldn’t have been able to figure out anything from the street signs, as most were not in English, and neither read Arabic script. Many people were out, as the sun had gone down, and it was now cooler, according to Omar. In an hour they pulled up to a very modern high-rise hotel and were checked in by Omar, apparently using his own authority, as no one even bothered to ask their names. A bellman took their luggage and they were ushered into a dining room and seated immediately.

  
“All your expenses will be charged to the room, at my master’s command,” Omar told them. “Is ten too early to pick you up tomorrow? Or are you early persons?”

  
“No, ten will be fine, Omar,” Morgan nodded as Sam was handed a menu. “I guess we’ll be eating, then? Oh, I see. And we’ll be able to see the Pyramids or the Museum tomorrow? Don’t need appointments or tickets?”

  
“My master’s guests,” Omar told him with a bow, “need no such things. It will be done. Arrangements have been made. Who would defy the Lord of the West? I will be here to get you at ten. Peace be with you.”

  
“Christine wasn’t kidding about the enslaved thing,” said Sam, looking over the menu. They had missed dinner while on the plane, and the flight had not included a meal. “Whoa, this is a pretty pricey place. Looks like a good selection, though. I think the salmon, with a salad. Heat makes me want to eat light.”

  
“Such a delicate thing you are, darling,” he told her, scanning the fancy lettering for something he liked. “Pizza? seems wrong to get something you eat with your fingers in a place like this. Well, a nice bit of fish it is. Hawk and me once caught some salmon up in Oregon, and almost had a grizzly take ‘em from us. Hard to cook salmon when you’re up a tree.”

  
“You can order pizza if you want, hon,” disagreed Sam, figuring it was mostly there for kids or unadventurous Americans. “Lotta stuff in Egypt is finger food, I think. And this isn’t the fancy restaurant. I think that one is on the roof.”

  
“Nah, you got a point, eating this late, should be something kinda light,” remarked Morgan, as their waiter set down water glasses and took their orders. “Now, that gives us two days to look around here. Pyramids and Sphinx tomorrow, or Museum first? I seem to recall the Pyramids and Sphinx are sorta together?”

  
“Seems to me that they used to be outside of town, but the city has pretty much grown up around it,” said Sam, thinking about it. “Still got a large area that is part of a park, I guess, but not built on cause of possible future finds or digs. Lots of times building things unearths stuff, and probably all the construction companies got an archeologist on staff. My parents said folks here don’t really care much about anything from the Greek period on, just New Kingdom and before.”

  
“Might be easier for me, since I got less idea what’s where, and you got some,” said Morgan, grinning at her. “No real expectations to overcome, since I know my ideas of the area are out of date almost as much as the Pharaohs. I grew up thinking of camels and sheiks and belly dancers, pyramids and sand covered ruins. And here we are at a fancy hotel with glass towers and roof top restaurants, so, neither of us are gonna probably see what we expect.”

  
“No doubt, when actual gods have already made plans,” agreed Sam. “Oh, I didn’t think I was that hungry, but now I could just murder that salad.”

  
Later, in bed, the two of them had some fun trying out the mattress. Morgan found the large, firm expanse useful, but unless an orgy was planned, most of the acreage was wasted.

  
“Do they expect folks to need a running jump?” he wondered, held in Sam’s arms, quite pleased with the air conditioning, after all that effort.

  
“No, I think some islamic countries allow more than one wife,” panted Sam, seeing that it would be easy to move to a dryer spot with all that room. “And think of you and me and Hawk and Brooke, and maybe Bruce and, well, then, it seems cozy.”

  
“Not Bruce,” said Morgan, with a chuckle. “We’re related, and that would just seem weird. Not sure he’d be interested, since he didn’t seem, ah, to be paying attention when we cleaned him up that one time. Maybe String and Caitlin?”

  
“Oh, doll, you got some interesting ideas,” said Sam, catching her breath. “But you’re all I can handle right now. Okay, Blue Hawke, if he felt like it, and Brooke. Not sure String and Cait are an item. She doesn’t talk about it, and he doesn’t talk, much, at all. Wonder if Lady of the Howling Winds knows? Is that something she’d care to notice? Man, I gotta do some talking to her soon. Cait or Lady.”

  
“Hmm, that might be fun,” he agreed, having caught his breath some while back. “But we ought to do some more testing, I think. And a running start, maybe?”

  
The ten o'clock pick up was a good choice, as they had got up late. With their one clean set of clothes, they met Omar and the driver and were, relatively speaking, whisked off to the Pyramids and the Sphinx. They rode camels on a short tour around the area, which was not at all covered in sand, but more like riddled with holes and dug up mastabas and small temples and other tombs. Sam cringed at the graffiti on blocks of sandstone that had been ancient before the time of Ceasar, but held her tongue. They had a late lunch at a falafel place, and went off to see the Sphinx, Sam having nixed the tour into the actual Pyramid, not caring for such a cramped space.

  
Omar was as good as his word, and they swept past lines, ticket booths, even barely pausing at the guard stations at various points. Sam and Morgan had quite a nice time, as guides seemed to understand that they were more important than the rest of the tourists, and Sam wondered how that was done. She tried to at least ask intelligent questions, and by the time they were ready to leave, several tourists had taken to following them, cameras ready to photograph whatever she asked about.

  
The hot, dry sun had drained them by the time they got back to the hotel, near sunset. A nice shower and clean clothes, cleaned while they had been out by the very unobtrusive staff, and they headed for the top floor restaurant, to see how that was.

  
It was, in fact, far more elegant and fancy than Sam had expected, and she felt quite under-dressed. The staff did not so much as bat an eye, seating them promptly and leaving menus fresh water and bread, and a waiter to take drink orders. They enjoyed the last colors of sunset, and the lights of the sprawling city coming up around the area, strung like bracelets of diamond across the Nile. In the distance, the Sphinx and Pyramids lit up with the evening show for tourists.

  
“Well, that was the oldest part of Cairo, I think,” said Sam, having scarfed down the glass of iced tea set beside her, only to have it immediately refilled. “Man, sunlight takes it out of you with that heat and dryness. Hope I didn’t sunburn.”

  
“I look forward to checking,” said Morgan, leaning back in contented relaxation. “That was right entertaining, today. That Widget thing as old as that pile of stone, or not?”

  
“Wadjet,” corrected Sam, reminded of an old science fiction story. “And I don’t think so. The Pyramids were Old Kingdom, and I’m pretty sure the Wadjet was New Kingdom. I’d have to ask, though, since I still don’t know what happened or where it came from back in the Thirties. I really need more detail. Hmm, I wonder if I could get someone to do that before we get there, or if we can get that kind of info from our cyber friends.”

  
“Might not want to advertise we got an interest in the thing until we get to New York,” suggested Morgan. “Might be helpful to see if anyone reacts. Probably anyone actually involved is dead, but if someone still has the thing, could be interesting. Most folks don’t hide that kind of thing very well. One of the tricks I used fairly often. Mind, usually in a saloon, so, lower inhibitions, but still.”

  
Dinner was very good, their evening entertainment short but sweet, and they were up far sooner the next morning, with enough time for breakfast. They spent all day in the National Museum, with Sam making notes, as cameras were not allowed. Many of the displays had wadjets, ankhs and crowns, but the most elaborate were still rather tawdry and seemed rather ill-made to Morgan’s eye. The treasures of Tutahkhamun, however, told another story. Obviously, royal trinkets were of higher quality than the rest of the things they had on display. As most of the other things in the Museum had been dug up or found in abandoned or looted tombs, the unplundered glory of the minor boy king outshone all others, giving a glimpse of what might have been to the visitors.

  
Sam filled half her notebook, and at dinner that evening she outlined what she had gleaned from the exhibits.

  
“There seems to be a difference between the Eye of Ra and the Eye of Horus,” she told her husband, while they lounged in the comfortable chairs of the rooftop restaurant. “I don’t know if that is something Thoth can clear up, or if it really made a difference. Problem is, lots of different places had lots of different versions of stuff, and archeologists are stuck with whatever they can make out from the remains. Place like Egypt, you got three or four thousand years of mixed up ideas about various gods, philosophies, myths and magic. A book of the dead from the Old Kingdom is hardly at all like one from the New Kingdom. And was that because the scribe was different, the times were different, the religion or priest was different? No one knows.”

  
“I noticed that some things that started out as concepts eventually got to be gods,” he said thoughtfully. “Ma’at seemed to just be a concept, at first, but eventually she got to be a personage, or depicted as one. And Chris says she’s a neat freak, so real, I guess?”

  
“Yeah, I kept an eye out for anything involving the five Chris talks to and the one Pam is married to,” nodded Sam, as their dinner arrived. “Not much on some, but contradictions on most. Sekhmet is married to Ptah, then she’s married to someone else, she’s got a kid, then she’s Mut, then she’s Hathor, pretty confusing.”

  
“Not sure we want to ask her,” said Sam, recalling what Chris had said about when Sekhmet came and why, and how you called her. “Thoth can probably straighten things out, better than this mess. Reminds me of some kind of gossip rag from the Fifties, never got much right, but had everyone sleeping with everyone else.”

  
“Well, after three, four thousand years, maybe they got tired of being with the same folks,” speculated Morgan, with a shrug. “Just cause we got reason to know they were real, don’t mean other folks did. Say Memphis thought Thebes was getting too many folks at their temples, wanted a chunk of that, so they co-opt the big name, say, oh, but our temple had ‘em first, come here, not there.”

  
“More like that last,” agreed Sam, smiling. “I can’t say anything about it, priestess of Thoth or not. Not my place to know anything about the quality.”

  
“Quality?” he asked, looking around. “Mortals, yes, but I think we rate as quality, these days.”

  
The next morning, again, they met Omar, who whisked them off to the airport, or as whisked as they could be in the horrendous Cairo traffic. He assured them that Luxor was much less congested, and the airport closer to everything. Sam and Morgan had managed to find a few more items of clothing to supplement the few they had, and their backpacks were less empty-looking now, but still light. Sam had not seen fit to shop at any of the tempting markets, figuring they might be back, once the god(!) decided how to proceed. Omar led them off to one side of the concourse, to a place that seemed far more luxurious than the rest, apparently where private jets landed and boarded. Well, maybe they were quality, after all.

  
A sleek silver Lear jet, one of the new ones with the fancy wing tips, the head of a falcon on the nose and a golden ankh on the tail, had just taxied up to the gate from the fuel depot. It stopped, and the door opened, letting down a ladder-like set of stairs. Omar led them to the stairs, allowed them to precede him, then followed with their bags. Sam carried her laptop and purse, Morgan, nothing at all. He had offered to take her laptop bag, but he didn’t, in her opinion, respect the fragility of the thing, so she carried it.

  
“Hi, I’m Pamela Wallace,” said a cheerful voice, the speaker a very nice looking woman in green silk blouse and grey slacks. “You must be Chris’s friends. Pick a seat, we’ll be gone as soon as we get clearance. I know that you’re Sam and Morgan, but I don’t know which is which, Chris never said. And this is Candace, and this is Rose and Emma, who take care of Candace. My husband is in the cockpit, with our pilot, and will be out shortly. Still practicing, he says.”

  
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Pamela,” said Morgan, shaking her hand, as Sam put her bags on the nearest seat. “I’m Morgan Wayne, and this here is my wife, Samantha Grey Wayne. And Miss Candace, I heard some good things about you, too.”

  
“Auntie Chris never says bad things about anyone,” said the little girl strapped into a window seat near the two older women. She appeared to be about ten. “You have interesting auras. I’ve never seen that before.”

  
“Well, I guess we probably know why,” acknowledged Morgan, sitting down near Sam and strapping in. “Long story, though, and probably oughta wait til we get somewhere everyone can hear it.”

  
“Never been on one of these planes,” commented Morgan as Sam put on her seat belt. “They feel different from a big plane?”

  
“I dunno, hon,” Sam told him with a grin. “I’ve never been on one of these before, either. Seems roomier with seats only against the windows, even if it is smaller.”

  
“Nothing exciting will happen today,” came a calm voice from the intercom system. “I don’t practice anything unusual with Pamela or Candace aboard. Later, perhaps, we shall go out into the desert and try some things, but never with my girls in the plane. I might risk the aircraft, but never them.”

  
“I keep telling him, you want to stunt fly, get a stunt plane, not a Lear,” shrugged Pamela, smiling. “He probably will. But you can’t fly across the Atlantic in a stunt plane, so here we are. Had to drag him out of the Aerospace Museum back in San Diego. We were just in time to avoid the opening, see. And, yes, we were there all night.”

  
“Yes, and we will go back! It was wonderful, so full of interesting things. I went home and ordered a lot of books from the internet and read of many of the people. Do you know that much of the history of aviation is in San Diego? It is most entertaining to read of things like the Lindberg plane and the space race. Ah, control has cleared us.”

  
“Been to the airshow at Mira Mar yet?” asked Sam of Pamela, wondering how you got into a closed museum with an avid god. That museum was paranoid about security, as it had been once destroyed by fire.

  
“On the list,” said Pamela, nodding. “Can take Candace, too. They allow dogs, if they’re well behaved, and he will be.”

  
“Dog?” asked Morgan, a bit confused. The museum had been very emphatic that Anubis/Anpu was a jackal, not a dog. “Doesn’t seem very dignified.”

  
“Oh, but he is a very dignified and well behaved dog,” said Pamela with a sly grin. “He gets to make up for it later on. Looks like an Ibizan hound, only black. Had more than one dog lover or breeder try to buy him from me. Elegant, he is, no leash needed, unless the law requires it. Certified therapy dog, got papers.”

  
“A god has papers?” asked Sam with a smile. “Yeah, easy to train, was he?”

  
“No trouble at all,” Pamela assured him. Candace giggled. “Can follow very complex commands, for some reason. Very high scores on the tests. I did tell them he was almost human smart.”

  
“They desperately wanted him for some guy who had PTSD, or something, but I couldn’t part with him,” sighed Pam. “Anubis found the guy another dog, a border collie. Very successful pairing. The little bit of meddling in the brain didn’t hurt him, either. Concussion shock was part of the problem, and the damage Anubis fixed went a long way toward fixing his problems. Of course, he thinks it’s his dog.”

  
When they got to cruising height, and leveled off, the cockpit door opened and the god himself walked in. It was in no way disappointing to Sam or Morgan, and just as impressive, in Sam’s private opinion, as the Phantom, or the Batman, or her own Morgan.

  
Tall, made taller by the upright ears that nearly brushed the cabin roof, the powerfully built god was graceful and looked as if he had just stepped out of the King Tut exhibit at the Museum. He wore a wide jeweled collar, gold armbands at biceps and wrists, elegant gold sandals, and a kilt of golden cloth, pleated as if just ironed. The belt that held it was jeweled and tasteful, matching his collar. His ears and shoulders held back a striped head cloth, the brow band of gold with a small uraeus, neatly worn. His face was that of a very elegant canine, the ears mobile and twitching, the nose and whiskers moving, and assuring that this was no mask. The eyes were changeable, gold and brown by turns, and quite piercing. This was a being who missed little, Morgan was pretty sure.

  
“Ah, you are indeed as Thoth described you to me,” nodded that elegant head. “I am pleased to have you guest with us. Surely it will be more comfortable than Christine’s husband’s first visit.”

  
“No doubt,” said Pamela with a twitch of her mouth. “Did you go to the Pyramids and the Sphinx?”

  
“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t think we two are equipped to sense anything like a power,” Morgan admitted. “I mean, we’re just mostly normal folk, Sam and me. No magic stuff about us, just a few skills most folks don’t have, but nothing meta, magic, anything like that.”

  
“Yes, but I hear that you have a flying friend that I very much want to meet,” said the god, sitting across from them, elegant and graceful as a dancer. “I have to say, this idea of flight is wonderful, and every day I am learning more about it. If modern humanity did nothing more than produce my Pamela and flight, they would be successful in my judgement. Even if it were only my darling Pamela, really, but flight? Icing on the cake.”

  
“Oh, yeah, you and String and Cait and Dom, you’d get along great,” agreed Sam, thinking about it. “Gotta say, those ears are gonna make a flight helmet awkward, though. Always see ‘em with those motorcycle-looking helmets, so you might have to fly with just a headset or something, if you go up with the Lady. And, of course, you will, and I’ll still not see the inside of the Pretty Helicopter.”

  
“Heh, Christine’s hubby asked if he could get one, just after seeing her,” chuckled Morgan, impressed with the casual god in their midst. “But I know she’s one of a kind, especially after Thoth got done modifying her, and after the Hidden fixed her up. Was pretty bad-ass before, when it was just Hawke, Dom and Caitlin flying her. Now, well, she’s a person, got a soul, according to people who know, and is, ah, an urshu, did Thoth call her? Magic person of some kind.”

  
“Urshu, is she?” said Anubis, his ears twitching a bit more to attention at that. “Oh, I really must somehow meet this lovely creature. Thoth assures me that she and her pilots are amazing, and I have no reason to doubt. I am, myself, only rated for fixed wing flight, and only just allowed to copilot this plane. But I find the whole thing quite fascinating. I was quite pleased to find that Christine’s husband was rated for multiple types of craft. I hardly knew aircraft existed until Pamela took us to California the first time. Nothing like it. And now I understand what Horus and Nekhbet were doing gone so often. Thoth, strangely, never mentioned flying, so possibly he thought it ordinary or dull. I certainly do not!”

  
“Heh, yeah, you need to meet the Princess Helicopter,” smiled Sam at his enthusiasm. “She’s really nice, and while String is kinda repressed, he’s got his reasons. Caitlin is absolutely not repressed, and neither is Dom. Dunno how he’s gonna get along with you, though, he’s pretty Catholic. Took the Phantom okay, though. And the Hidden.”

  
“Oh, hey, I got his card in my wallet,” said Morgan, thinking about it. “He runs a stunt flying outfit and charter service out in California. Does stuff for movies and fancy parties and that kind of thing, at least, when they aren’t playing secret agent. Here, if you live in San Diego, you’re at least on the right coast. Maybe they give lessons in stuff?”

  
“Oh, that would be very nice,” said the canine mouth, a mouth full of sharp white teeth and a very long tongue. It was definitely moving in speech, not just writhing around, Sam thought, fascinated. “No, don’t give it to me, I will duplicate it, and then we will both have one. Besides, no pockets in this outfit. A flight suit is much more convenient, I find, although keeping a completely human form is harder than I would like.”

  
“This is the natural, ah, resting shape then?” asked Sam, gesturing at the very handsome form. “I tried to find instances of you in completely anthropomorphic shape and found almost none. I guess there was a reason, then.”

  
“I am far older than some of the gods of Egypt, even,” nodded that elegant head, the eyes changing to gold. “And perhaps a bit more defined in my shape than the others. Still, also more powerful. Nothing of another pantheon is likely to harm me or mine, and even those of my own pantheon would fare poorly, for the most part. But that makes a completely human shape a glamour or change, not easy to hold. Believe me, my first pilot lessons were difficult, with all the excitement I felt. But I persevered. My beloved Pamela encouraged me in my new hobby, as she disliked my previous ones. Or she did, after she made sure that crashing would not destroy me.”

  
“And what were your previous hobbies?” asked Sam curiously. “I’m kind of wondering why a god would need a hobby, actually, not that you have one. I mean, my hobby is kind of collecting books and stuff, but also working with leather. Not that I’ve done much of that lately, kinda busy. But hobbies are to occupy you when you don’t have other stuff going on, right?”

  
“Oh, nothing that really translates into modern hobbies,” the god assured her, waving an elegant hand. “Omar, get our guests drinks or something, will you? I liked to investigate other country’s necropoli, see what other gods had taught their followers to do for the bodies. Not all that interesting, really, although, Christine has been trying to get me to write up something with Thoth about it for some archeological magazine she gets. I don’t think anonymous authors with unproven claims would be allowed, not in a reputable publication. Our names would not be, ah, acceptable.”

  
“Problem solved,” said Sam, gesturing at herself with an unopened can of diet soda. “I publish in those things all the time, and other stuff. Run it under my byline, or I’ll talk to my editor, she’ll get it done. Love to read it, first, though.”

  
“Ah, well, then we shall do so,” said Anubis with a canine grin. Sam had seen the same look on Devil’s face when Christine had been scritching his tummy. “Now, Thoth says you are seeking the Wadjet, the Eye of Horus?”

  
“Yeah, we think so,” shrugged Morgan, having taken a long drink of something with no fizz. “Thing seems to have a bunch of different names, and yet the one from the New York Museum seems to have been stolen, then vanished. I think it’s kind of an eye shaped necklace thing, or so the description said. But it’s either the Eye of Horus or the Eye of Re, or the Wadjet, or something. Powerful, Thoth says, and not to be left laying around, either. Didn’t think much of the ones they had in the Cairo Museum, they seemed kinda, hmm, low grade?”

  
“Well, they were kind of the original evil eye talisman,” said Pamela, shrugging. “The original, that was never meant to be entombed, it was part of the royal regalia of a Pharaoh. Like the crown jewels of England, you didn’t bury them with the dead king, you kept them for the new king. It was a focus of power, originally, mostly of the sun. A facsimile was buried with the dead king, and, of course, that became a fashion, rather quickly. If Pharaoh needed one of those, well, so did Neferbet the king’s second cousin, and pretty soon, everyone. None of those had any power, of course. But some were pretty good copies, enough to muddle things.”

  
“Hmm, and no pictures or distinguishing characteristics of the one we’re looking for, I suppose,” sighed Sam. “I might as well not go on this jaunt, I’m fairly useless. I mean, I can’t tell powered from unpowered. At least Morgan is a detective of sorts, and good with a gun.”

  
“Well, you speak German, and I don’t,” said Morgan consolingly. “And you still kick my butt when we spar, so there’s that.”

  
“We may be able to sensitize you to the thing we seek, or it’s like,” said Anubis, unconcerned. “I have something that we can use, after all. More than one, too. Not a good idea to manifest any of them in an aircraft full of electronics, however. And I have an idea about the cargo capacity of our flying urshu, as well. It must be thought out, however, and perhaps some experimentation done. Magic can have bad effects on electronics, I have discovered. But as Thoth has already explored magic with our Lady of the Howling Winds, perhaps they have solved this trouble. It is to be hoped. Pamela has had to buy many phones and computers, to the point that we always have to have back up devices.”

  
“I hear that’s a good plan, for most stuff,” said Morgan with a grin at Sam. “My wife believes in back up for everything. Plans for all kinds of unlikely things, she does. Probably even got an idea about that dohicky.”

  
“Back up is good,” agreed Pamela, nodding in agreement. “I think we’re single handedly keeping the phone people in Luxor in business. If Thoth and this helicopter have figured out the answer, I’d love to hear it. I know that Christine hasn’t had any trouble with her amulet and electronics, but maybe that’s filtering the effect somehow.”

  
“Yeah, I keep losing all my progress in my games,” said Candace, having been following this conversation closely. “New computer, new x-box, new game, start over. I am so sick of the first twelve levels of stuff.”

  
“Yeah, did that with my phone a couple times,” sighed Sam. “But it was a legit broken phone, fell off the truck on the freeway, or I assume it did. And the time my horse picked it up and brought it to me, thinking I needed it. Accidentally dropped it in the water trough.”

  
“Your horse fetches?” said the girl, impressed. “Phones? My horse just thinks they must be good to eat.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My characters refuse to behave the way I want!

Eventually they landed, the pilot taking charge of the plane, and the passengers walking off the plane to a waiting pair of SUVs, with Anubis in the form of a very sleek and well behaved dog. It didn’t seem much of a disguise, to Sam, as the elaborate gold collar only emphasized his resemblance to the one from Tut’s tomb. Of course, Egypt was mostly Islamic, and some Christians, she thought, so maybe it wouldn’t occur to anyone that a fancy dog was a god. Maybe. From the looks of some of the airport personnel, maybe not.

  
The compound they arrived at was a kind of small, modern fortress, walled and gated, a bit elevated from the rest of the city, which was mostly at the river level. Low sandstone hills backed it, and the interior was thick mud brick walls and pools and arbors. With the gates closed, Anubis was once more himself, and it appeared that no one working for him was at all surprised. And there appeared to be a lot of people working for him.

  
Each guest room apparently had its own servants assigned, there was a full kitchen staff, at least six people waiting for Pamela to need anything, and Sam couldn’t tell how many for Candace and her witch nannies. Gardeners and chauffeurs and for all Sam knew, a string quartet in the library. Ooh, did they have a library?

  
The afternoon was spent lounging around being plied with snack food, in a blatant attempt to ruin their appetite for dinner with dates and pastries. Cold drinks and a shady place next to the pool Candace chose to frolic in, were really all the effort anyone wanted to put out in the heat. None of the servants seemed warm, most wearing traditional white long tunics, sandals and Sam didn’t want to know what else.

  
“So, I have spoken to the Lady Helicopter,” said Anubis, cheerfully, sitting down in a lounge chair next to Pamela. Instantly, he had a tall glass of something handed to him, a tray of delicacies placed next to him. “What a delightful creature! She confirms that none of her crew is replaceable, and of course, who would know better? I confided our plans to nose about in the present first, but she knows of your time rift, my lady Sam. It seems that she plans to scan the area, which I gather is some thousands of acres of forest, mountains and valleys, to see if the rift you used has any energy or radar signature. She promises not to let anyone know about it, but she and Thoth are trying to figure out the time differential. She seems quite taken with the idea of fighting Nazis. She is also researching much of what the period was like at the time, engaging her engineer, Dom Santini, on the subject of his youth and experiences at the time.”

  
“We’re kinda worried that something her size, and mass, and maybe electronics, might change the rift some, or how the time flow works,” said Morgan, picturing the thing as kind of two close flows of water, one faster than the other. “Really don’t want anyone getting stuck there, after all. Just before World War Two, Nazi spies and sympathizers, idiots detaining Japanese Americans, barbarous medical practices, stupid ideas about women, dumber ideas about race, having to wear dresses! Sam made me study up on the thing.”

  
“And the first time some idiot told me to get him coffee, or called me a dame, I’d probably hurt him,” sighed Sam. “I really hope we can find the Wadjet here and now, not back then. I know I could mess things up really bad, temper I’ve got.”

  
“Now, let us hear the story of the time rift and your meeting, first,” said Anubis, as even Candace floated with her arms and chin on the edge of the pool, eager to hear it. “Later we can hear of the lovely cub that flies. Leave out nothing important, but I am aware that you protect secrets for others, and it is of no import to the story, I think. Ah, more to drink, perhaps?”

  
The afternoon and early evening passed quickly as the story was retold, to rapt attention from the group. Sam related most of it, almost polished by now, and easily eliding over the Batman’s part, and omitting most of the Hidden, as well. The thought of the Hidden, who terrified even some metas, coming into conflict with an actual god was not something Sam wanted to happen. After she finished, and by that time they were being served dinner at a nice outdoor patio dining table, the stars above them and a cooling breeze off the Nile.

  
“Ah, that was quite the story,” nodded Anubis, as Candace, face smeared with something sticky, tried to get them to go on to the helicopter tale. “It seems that both of you have had injuries and harms in the past. If you would give me your hand, Sam? Ah, yes, a moment. Better? Tendons and joints are always slow to heal, and minds often slower yet. I think now your nightmares will be less, at least. Morgan?”

  
He took a bit longer with the outlaw, and Sam took her opportunity to snag a piece of steak from her husband's plate.

  
“Whoa, that’s quite a jolt,” said Morgan as the god let him go. “What was that?”

  
“I did a little housekeeping, as it were,” shrugged the god, picking up a piece of fried chicken fastidiously with two fingers and tossing it into his mouth, bones and all. “You have been collecting injuries and lead for quite some time, my friend. No reason to let you run around in that condition, and I think Sam will appreciate it. Lead is still untreatable as a poison by modern humans, but I have better skills. And that stuff in your lungs, and a bit of brain damage, although the scars will probably remain, if a bit faded.”

  
“Oh, thank you, Anubis,” said Sam humbly, “I was kind of worried about the lungs, he smoked for so long.”

  
“Oh, count your blessings, Sam,” said Pamela, shushing her daughter. “It’s almost time to teach Candace how to do healing, and you could have been her subject!”

  
“Mom!” said Candace with her mouth full, “you promised we could find a hurt puppy or kitty to fix! Sorry, Mr. Morgan, but I wouldn’t get to keep you!”

  
After dinner, with everyone back out under the stars near the pool, Sam told about their relationship with Airwolf’s crew and the beautiful war machine herself.

  
“Now, lots of agencies and organizations, good and bad and in between, they want that helicopter,” she told them all seriously, including the servants in her look. “And I don’t mean just to put on the trophy shelf. Most want to take her apart and make more, some to destroy her, AIM and Hydra are definitely in the make more business. So we never call her Airwolf, not anywhere near anything electronic, or anyone we can’t really trust. If someone took her, her crew, my friends, I’d call in every favor and friend I have to get them back, just like I would for Morgan, Hawk, any of you. And I don’t do things quietly. Brooke used to be in the spy business, and I know a lot of people who owe me.”

  
“Ah, Brooke warned me once that you don’t do subtle,” said Morgan, interestedly. “Said you and Airwolf had loud and overkill in common.”

  
“Yeah? I didn’t blow up, uh, never mind, not my story to tell,” said Sam hastily, taking a drink of water. “Point is, we need to find this Wadjet thing before someone gets to it, according to Thoth. I don’t remember even knowing about it before this, but, hey, lotta strange stuff happened in the Thirties, especially in New York.”

  
“I think you were right,” said Candace after swallowing her mouthful of pastry. “She is the Princess Helicopter! Just like that movie Ladyhawk! Some evil guy turned a princess into a helicopter! Can we get her a new body, Papa?”

  
“She started out as a helicopter, my flower,” said Anubis to his daughter, trying to resist her pleading eyes. “She may be happy as a very nice, magic helicopter having adventures and saving the world. Sort of like that Iron Man character, you see. But if you meet her, perhaps you could ask her. I cannot make bodies, but Khnum and Ptah have done so in the past, and might, if we can find them.”

  
“Well, tomorrow we shall go to a place where some slight power still lingers, and see if you two can sense it,” said Anubis, ruffling his child’s short brown hair. “If not, we shall see if you can get anything off my Ankh, which is still fully charged, as magic things go. But the tools of a god are not something that can be stolen.”

  
“Oh, show them, Papa!” said Candace, sitting up in eager attention. “It’s a perfect night for it, and the grapes could use a little boost.”

  
The lounging god, one arm around his wife on an ornately pillowed couch, gestured with his free hand, having just set down his drink. A bright gold ankh, about a foot or so tall, suddenly appeared in his hand, using the top loop of the symbol. It exuded a kind of mellow golden glow all around, and would have lit quite a lot of space, had they been sitting in the dark. The plants and people seemed to have faint glows in answer to it. Sam closed her eyes and tried to find some sense of it, but none seemed to occur.

  
“Am I supposed to be able to sense something?” she sighed, disappointed in herself. She was not going to contribute much to this shindig without some ability to sense the McGuffin. “All I can do is see glowy stuff, but nothing with my eyes closed.”

  
“Ah, you see things, like faint traceries of light?” asked Anubis, his canine smile genuine in the warm light. “Excellent. And you, Morgan, any sense of the Ankh’s power?”

  
“Well, got a kind of fuzzy feeling,” admitted the retired outlaw. “I don’t see them traceries yuh do, Sam. But, sorta buzzy, almost an itch, like a rough blanket on skin?”

  
“Close your eyes and point at the place you feel the itch,” said Anubis, handing his Ankh to Candace and pointing to the other side of the pool. She scampered off on soundless feet. “Ah, excellent.”

  
Morgan had followed the thing with his finger exactly, eyes closed tight. He opened then and found his finger pointing at Candace and the glowing object.

  
“Huh, so sensing stuff like that is different between Sam and me,” he said, thoughtfully. “Might be useful to have two ways to find the thing. If it’s there to find, I guess.”

  
“I don’t know how useful my way of seeing it is gonna be,” Sam said, disappointed in herself. “That thing is dang powerful, and I can barely see traces. At least you can feel the thing. Anything not at that power level is likely to be invisible to me.”

  
“Tomorrow we shall go to Mut’s temple and see what else you two may sense,” Anubis declared. “It will be hot and a fair hike, and early will be cooler than later, so off to bed with you, my friends! Alas, it is the only place we have yet found that has any power left from the ancient times.”

  
“The same place you first met Kit?” asked Sam soberly. Where he had been killed, she said to herself alone.

  
“Yes,” agreed Anubis. “But that desecration was cleansed by my own hand. Even a sensitive, a psychic, would have nothing but faint echos of that vileness. More likely to feel something from the bodies in the deep canyon beside the site. And those are long scavenged and scattered.”


	44. Chapter 44

The next morning, with several of their servants carrying water and food for them, the Wallace/Anubis family and their guests took a short hike into the hills behind their villa. The trail was faint and several places were washed out, and Anubis temporarily restored them, as Pamela had not yet found anyone she cared to let ‘find’ the site. The little crevice that disguised the entryway was wide enough for them all to enter, and inside it was roomy, heavily carved and full of cult objects and filtering light.

  
Mut, it seemed, was apparently the mother of Konshu, one of Christine’s five protectors, and sometimes shown as a lioness. However, she was mainly a creator and mother goddess, and the opening of the cave might have suggested the yoni principle to someone for the temple itself. At least, that was what Sam and Pamela mostly agreed on, as they strolled around the vast interior. Candace, however, giggled about it being ‘bigger on the inside.’

  
Sam, try as she might, found no repeat of the traceries she had seen the night before. Morgan felt a little bit of the fuzzy feeling, but nothing concrete. Sam did, however, make note of the Djed pillar to one side of the cavern, and the dark stains on and around it. Here and there were remains of ropes, some still stained and dark.

  
“It’s where we found him,” Pamela told her new friend, touching the carven stone that represented strength, the spine of Osiris or some other god. Mostly, it looked a bit like a palm trunk, to Sam. “He was still breathing, but fortunately, not aware. It was pretty awful.”

  
“Takes a lot to kill him,” Sam said, a little sparkle seeming to bounce off the thing. Mica, she thought, or old gold leaf or paint. “I guess the bundled up stuff was things the thieves were gonna take?”

  
“Yes, we haven’t done anything to the place but cleanse it of the desecration,” said Pamela, as Anubis pointed out something to Morgan on the other side of the chapel. “The idea is to get someone to take credit for it, someone reputable, honest, not the current pack of tomb robbers in Cairo and elsewhere. Still looking.”

  
“Yeah, you want someone who isn’t gonna just hare off with the goods to Marrakech and sell the stuff off,” allowed Sam. “You want me to talk to the folks at the AIA? They might know someone.”

  
“No, we can contact them ourselves, we were hoping someone local would be good, but things are in such upheaval right now, we haven’t done much digging, figuratively speaking. Anubis says what’s a few more years?”

  
“Yeah, different perspective on that, I guess,” said Sam with a nod. “I have to say, this stuff, even the stuff that’s not wrapped up, is very beautiful. The light makes everything kind of golden, even if it isn’t actual gold. And shows up the flakes left over from the paint that’s gone. Like that, right there, and over there.”

  
“Hmm, that was never gilded,” said Pamela, looking closely where Sam pointed. “I think you’re seeing old power remains. I can sort of smell the stuff. It manifests differently in everyone. If you didn’t see or feel it, taste might work, but who wants that? Can you just imagine having to go around licking stuff? Uh uh, wouldn’t happen.”

  
“And how would you know?” giggled Sam, thinking about it. “Oh, Anubis, in that dog form might be able to, but surely it would be beneath his dignity.”

  
“Don’t call me Shirley,” said Anubis, his tall ears having heard them easily. “And I think gods feel it through different means than mortals. But we can teach, even if it is different. My touch last night might awaken certain latent talents in either of you, or both.”

  
“You watched ‘Airplane!’?” asked Sam, grinning at him. “What did you think of it?”

  
“Of course I watched it,” laughed the jackal god, strolling toward them. “It had the word airplane as a title! And it was very funny, even if I am sure I missed at least half the jokes.”

  
“I think about ten times now, actually,” said Pamela with a smile. “And a lot of other flying movies, too. Oh, he loves the Rocketeer, but who doesn’t?”

  
“A challenge to find something everyone wants to watch on movie night,” said Anubis, ruffling his daughter’s hair again. “And the Rocketeer is a good one. Oh, that Mummy movie is ridiculous, but fun. And the Indiana Jones stuff. I hear from some of the locals that some of those were true.”

  
“Oh, yeah, he was pretty famous, back in the day,” nodded Sam. “Everyone in the business at that time had a story about him. Drank hard, had lots of girlfriends, always in trouble, at least in academia, as he had some wild, but since substantiated, theories. Just a little too much of a tomb robber for my tastes, good intentions or not.”

  
“Yes, but on the whole, a good man,” said Anubis, as they found places on the floor to have lunch. “I checked with some friends in the Duat, when I found that he had died, and they assure me that he was taken care of by the higher sorts, not the lower. There was, in fact, some argument over which afterlife he belonged to, he had touched so many. It seems that he was granted free access to most of the various heavens.”

  
“Hmm, interesting,” commented Sam, feeling like that might be the ideal way to go. After all, the afterlife touted in Christian church dogma kind of sounded boring, and there had never been any mention of horses. “I can’t say I’m in favor of any afterlife without horses. Does the Duat have any?”

  
“Oh, yes, whatever Egypt had, the Duat has,” nodded Anubis. “But it is rather static, these days, as not many new believers arrive. And how many trips on the Boat of a Million Years can you take? Osiris rules there, and is content, I think, but others more concerned with mortals and life than death, they seem to still wander here and there. Isis, I think, is probably still around, although I have yet to trace her. Montu, Min, Hathor, pretty sure Horus, but I haven’t found any of them. I am certain Ptah and Set still roam the planet, but I know not their place, nor have I come across their trails. Some, like Isis, are prone to wandering, others, drawn to certain human endeavors, such as building or war or invention. I will not go to a war zone with my family, not even to find another of my kind. I have yet to go searching the Universities and laboratories of the world for Ptah or Amon or whoever. Perhaps in a year or so, my Candace would like to tour them with me, to see what University she would like to go to. I think Cambridge, perhaps CalTech, maybe Berkely.”

  
“No, Papa, I want to go to Moscow, to cause trouble!” giggled Candace, hands full of peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I hate those troll farms, they keep interrupting my games with ads!”

  
“If you go to CalTech,” said Sam thoughtfully, “you could learn how to cause them trouble from anywhere, not just Russia. I hear their school is pretty much the best.”

  
“Really?” said Candace, her mouth full of a bite. “How do you know?”

  
“I know a lot of spies,” said Sam, seriously. “And lots of agencies recruit straight out of those programs, sometimes before graduations. And I think if you want to really know who would be best, you should ask our Lady Helicopter. Who else would know more about programs and computers?”

  
“Huh,” said Candace, chewing on her sandwich meditatively. Anubis shot Sam a glance that acknowledged her help in this minor battle.

  
After they had returned to the compound, most of them spent some time in the pool, rehydrating, and laying in the shade drinking stuff that was cold and wet, talking about the temple. There had been some water damage, as rain, while infrequent, did happen, and the places where light came in, also let in water. Still, most of the colorful painted walls and objects had retained their brilliance, to modern eyes. Anubis regarded it as somewhat shabby and a bit faded, but he had seen it in its glory, and the others had not, nor any others, come to that.

  
“I think some of the success of modern religion is that more of the common people are involved in it,” Anubis said as they all sat at dinner in their swim wear. “In the old times, the common man made offerings if he needed something, if someone was sick, or if a festival moved him. The Festivals, of various times and deities were the only time we were actively worshiped by the mass of mortals, rather than being praised and prayed to by the priestly classes. True, many of the common folk could become priests, but they had little actual contact with us. Our priests took payments to pray to us, or for the rental of temple lands, and that was that. Oh, there were stories, but, really, I was the one everyone met, in the end, not Bast or Horus or Re. These days, all the sacred texts of all the major religions are open to the people, and priests are not so easily able to interpret them as they like, although, I note some still do.”

  
“Yeah, even in America, there’s preachers who rant about how God, their God, hates gay people, colored people, whoever the preacher hates, and how the Bible says so. It doesn’t, but most of those types don’t actually read enough to know that, I guess. Or they hate the same people, so they don’t care.”

  
“Even my priests, who I kept an eye on, could be corrupt,” nodded Anubis. “I found one that was doing shoddy work, once, and personally showed him how to do it. He was meticulous after that. It wasn’t that they didn’t have time to do a good job, after all, he was just being lazy.”

  
“So, you think that spark or two I thought I saw in the Temple was my sensing power?” asked Sam, still not sure it hadn’t been a stray shine off of a piece of granite or mica. “I guess it might be helpful, if the thing is as powerful as your Ankh. And I go looking at where it is in the dark.”

  
“No, it will be no trouble,” said Anubis, waving his hand for the table to be cleared. “Ice cream, if you please, Seif. I mean to go, with my family, to New York, with you. And if we must, to the past. Although, I think Pamela and Candace should stay in the present. After all, if something goes wrong, I shall just become a statue again until the present, and all the rest who might journey back in time. I believe I can solve our seating issue with the delightful Lady, as well. It will require some experimentation, but I believe it is possible.”

  
“Ah, that is your ‘I’m being clever’ voice,” said Pamela, grinning, as her daughter giggled next to her. “I’m sure you have come up with something, but I don’t know about the experimentation part! When should we leave for New York, or should we do some more practice with sensing?”

  
“No, they have awakened the sense, it will grow, like learning to use your hearing,” said Anubis. “It will be fine to just tour the regular sites here, then go to New York in a few days. What were you two thinking, Aswan, Luxor, Karnak, the Valley of the Kings?”

  
“Oh, that would be lovely,” agreed Sam, eagerly, wondering if he would come with them, or could just review the places after they had been there. Surely he was better informed than the guide would be. “I have wanted to see Egypt since I first read about it in the Fourth grade. Especially Hatshepsut’s Temple. I want a good look at those frescos, some pictures of the plants and animals, if I can. Christine said she’d get them to the kids at the dig in Bengalla.”

  
“And so we shall tomorrow, then.” said Anubis, as ice cream confections were set before each of them. Anubis and Candace had tall glasses with straws that were evidently milk shakes, or something, and Sam wondered about the different foods that Anubis ate. Spoons and such seemed not meant for his mouth, though he used a fork well. “It is there that I first met my beloved Pamela, you know. And I have heard from Omar that those fools that I scattered then have been back now and again to search for signs of either of us. Heh. My heart was correct when she called them ditzy and brain-fried. Even after almost a year, they still have no idea how to worship a god, any god. Crystals and pyramids and incense, pah!”

  
“And how does one do it properly?” asked Morgan curiously, eating his own dish of whip cream topped chocolate and vanilla scoops. “I mean, I think it might help to know, someday, the folks Sam and me keep running into.”

  
“In my case, this is good, feeding me ice cream,” said Anubis, licking up a drip from the side of the tall glass and winking at his daughter. “It usually comes down to food. Now, back in the day, many gods had favorite foods, and mentioned them to their priests, and once written down, that was it. Never a spark of variety, creativity, spice, nothing, just endlessly the same dish. Some got disgusted and wandered off to find something else to try, and started new cults, others just stopped altogether. Oh, not us, here, but I’ve heard stories, the Greeks, the Scythians, the Romans, all those old Celtic sorts. But it isn’t always easy to just pick up and go somewhere else, and at that point, the world was changing, and some didn’t find new worshippers, and just faded into nothing, or drifted into mortal worlds. Some even died.”

  
“Gods don’t die, Papa,” said Candace, looking concerned. “You told me that gods don’t die. You can’t die, can you?”

  
“Oh, no, my sweet,” the elegant god of death assured her, “I am not going to die. But some, lesser gods, what some would call demi-gods, or half-gods, can die. And of course, there are some humans that do not die, but are not gods. Still, for those long known and worshiped, boredom sometimes becomes a factor, and we wander and find things that we didn’t know we needed, like ice cream and little girls!”

  
“Oh, Papa!” giggled Candace, getting chocolate syrup on her face from her spoon. “Even I know you didn’t really need that.”

  
“But now I have to have it, so I guess I really did need it, didn’t I?” he teased her, making silly faces at her with the ice cream straw on one sharp fang.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ancient One cameos

The next two days they spent looking at all the touristy things, Anubis in dog form at Pamela’s heel, Candace and her nanny Rose darting off and looking at whatever took her interest. Sam and Morgan took a great many pictures, so many that Sam began to worry that she wouldn’t have enough memory for Thoth in her phone, and so bought herself a very overpriced memory chip to swap out if she needed to. And then they just picked up and drove to the airport and flew back to the States, no passport or customs checks or anything.

  
“Ah, well, in Egypt, I still have quite a lot of power,” Anubis told them as they flew across the Atlantic from their stopover in Spain. “No one even thinks to ask, you see, and only a few actually notice, except to think Pamela and Candace to be important. In Spain, they did notice, as my power does not, and never did, run there, but if I exert myself, they, also, would simply fuel the plane and wave us on. I did not, and we paid for the fuel and the meals. I do love a good paella. Pamela introduced me to them in San Diego, and while you can get burritos in Spain, I prefer the ones from Mexico.”

  
“Gotta say, I agree with you on the paella,” nodded Morgan, the two talking quietly in the front of the plane, while most of the others slept on reclined seats in the back. “And the burritos. What do you think about pizza?”

  
“My thoughts on pizza are entirely inconsequential,” chuckled the god, stretching himself a little. It would be his turn to pilot soon, as they were switching off over the vast blue expanse. Even a god could get stiff over an eighteen hour flight. “Candace likes it, so it seems we eat it every other day. At least once a week, if I cannot find other foods to tempt her. I put my foot down about pepperoni, though. That stuff is not good for anyone.”

  
“What happens when we get into New York and we ain’t been seen since we landed in Cairo? Is anyone gonna care?” asked Morgan, because most of the Customs checks had been quite thorough.

  
“No one will actually see your luggage, your passports, only pass them through automatically, as Pamela’s are done. My little Candace, born in the United States, is only a year or so old, but appears twelve or so, and it would not do to have such things checked carefully. And I, as before, in Madrid, will seem to be nothing more than a piece of jewelry on my daughter’s wrist. It is that little trick that I mean to use to fit all of us into the Magic Helicopter, you see, if we must track the Wadjet through time.”

  
“You can turn us all into charms on a bracelet?” asked Morgan, with some apprehension. “That sounds, uh, kinda risky? Who’s the one wears the, uh, two? three? of us?”

  
“I practiced on several of the servants one day in Luxor,” shrugged Anubis, unconcerned. “It is easy, and you do not lose any sense of time or feel any pain. It is rather like flying coach in a plane, actually. In some ways, it is much like being a fly on a wall, able to hear and see what happens, but safely hidden from other eyes. I think your lovely wife would be best, and we two as jewels at her throat. The servants told me that it was not unpleasant, and none felt itches or needs of the body while in that form. It is so when I take that form, as well, and I did not know if humans would find it harder or even be able to do it at all. Yet all the servants I tried it with, seven in all, had no trouble, even one that I left in that shape for two days.”

  
“And how many folk could we do that with?” asked Morgan, thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbly chin. “And yeah, probably best we have Sam wear jewelry, not me.”

  
“I don’t know if there would be a limit,” shrugged the god, standing up. “I know that at one time, in ages past, the deceased were given shabtis, carven figures of people, as servants in the afterlife, on the theory of this very spell, but, of course, those were just substitutes for what they knew gods could do. At least, in temple and tomb settings, the number seemed to be unlimited, but, as I said, those were frauds.”

  
Anubis went into the cockpit to do his turn at piloting, so that their pilot, a man by the name of George Hunter, could get some rest and be ready for when they landed. He immediately fell asleep in a reclined seat, and Morgan had a chance to sit and think about things. Plans and theories sifted through his mind, revising them now that this new trick was available.

  
The Masked Rider had not been feared for his gun skills so much as his ability to ferret out the truth of black schemes, murders, bad dealings by authority figures and crooked lawmen. That had not been physical, but mental strengths and speed. He was as book smart about the Thirties as he was going to get, but that might not be the knowledge he would need. He pondered the reasons and ways someone would want to steal an artifact like the Wadjet. He had no way of knowing the ways, but the reasons would be the same as any other treasure, and that he had experience with.

  
Some might want the thing for its beauty, and that alone, others for the history behind it. Those people might, in fact, still have it, if someone had taken it for those reasons. As simple treasure, and in its Wadjet form, it would have shown up on the market, if all that the thief saw was monetary treasure. It had not, so that was likely not the thief’s reason. The power aspect was something he had less of a grasp of, and less idea of who might be motivated to steal the thing for that reason. Yes, Nazis, perhaps, even cultists, if they knew about it, and secret societies had abounded in New York at the time, from his reading. Hydra was a worrisome bit of that equation, and Morgan was forced to admit that he would welcome a god to their party for the extra firepower that would bring.

  
He wondered at his feeling that this was going to get messy, but had to admit, it was already feeling chaotic, with all these extra people. He was so used to just he and Blue Hawk, that the addition of Sam seemed a bit much. Yet he could hardly expect to simply take Hawk and he off to New York and find this thing, past or present, they had no expertise in the thing they sought or the places and times they sought it in. He hoped that the bunch of them, all with different skills, could find something in the very cold trail they were currently following.

  
They landed in New York and the plane and pilot went off for maintenance and a hotel room, while the six mostly human passengers filed through Customs and out into the airport. As at Cairo, there was someone waiting to take them to their hotel, a very nice place on the edge of Central Park, the Ritz-Carlton. It was a bit more upscale than the place they had met Spidey, but it was right on the Park. According to Thoth, the theft had happened at the Art Museum, and this was pretty close. Or, at least, it had looked close on paper. It was several blocks away from their hotel, but peddle cabs and even the subway was right nearby. With Anubis in his dog form now, they went off to find a place to eat near the Museum.

  
After eating, they nosed around, in Anubis case, quite literally, but found no traces outside the Museum. Paying their entry fees, they went inside and made a more thorough inspection. Power objects seemed to exist here, but Pamela, who now wore a necklace of thin gold thread and another with an Anubis charm on it, said that they were not the right sort of power. Sam made an appointment to see the Egyptian Art director the next day, her name getting attention where the others would have been politely shown the door. The Egyptian art on display was mostly monumental stone works, of kings or their priests, not of papyrus and gods, for the most part.

  
After leaving, they went to a place nearby that dealt in office supplies and had many of Sam’s photos from Egypt printed out from her memory chip. She made sure to get all the best ones from Hatshepsut’s Temple, and several from her trip through Bengalla’s jungles and the dig site. They went into a neat folder she also bought, to look professional the next day.

  
Then they went out to eat dinner. Morgan and Sam bought their friends pizza at a locally known place and they happily stuffed themselves and watched people passing on the street. Candace, knowing that Sam knew Spiderman, was hoping for a glimpse of the hero, but he was not to be seen. There was a streak of low-flying something across the trees in the park, but it was too fast to identify.

  
“Anyway,” Sam told the girl, “you don’t know, any of the people walking by might be a meta, they don’t all stay in costume all the time, right? Don’t look at the people, look at their auras, I guess?”

  
Rose, who had been simply keeping an eye on the young demi-goddess, made a complicated gesture of her hands. Sam assumed was a protection charm or spell, or whatever those things were, and Pamela and her little girl sat together and giggled over who that might be when they saw a complex aura go by. As they were finishing dessert, a complicated chocolate thing, a person in long yellow robes and a hood wandered toward them, stopping just outside the iron grill that separated the restaurant from the sidewalk.

  
“A god and a godling?” said the figure, without preamble. “And you seek something here, I think. Can I be of help?”

  
“Nothing we want to discuss here,” said Pamela, nodding her head in polite acknowledgement. “We find enough enemies without advertising our mission in public.”

  
“Ah, yes,” said the figure, and gestured in a complicated way with her hands. The noises of the city simply stopped, and around them everything was frozen, from the people in the restaurant and on the sidewalks, to the cars and buses on the streets. “We are now in a small bubble of space time. You may speak freely, without fear of anyone noticing. I am called the Ancient One, and I am the magical guardian of New York at this time. To what do I owe the honor of Anubis and his family visiting my city?”

  
Anubis himself appeared behind Pamela with his hands on her shoulders. He seemed to closely study the guardian, then nodded his head and snapped his fingers. Another chair appeared at the table, and another dessert, beside Pamela. “I and my friends seek to find the Wadjet, the Eye of Horus, stolen from the Art Museum in the late Thirties. The trail is cold, but we will speak to the museum persons tomorrow. Can you tell us anything about it? We suspect Nazis or their sympathizers, or even Hydra, but no breath of it has come to us in all these years, so we wonder what might have happened to it.”

  
“A curious group to hunt such a thing,” said the magician, and it was difficult to say if they were male or female, as the hood still hid much of the face and head. “A witch, and quite a competent one, a demi-god child, a very human, but learning magician, an ancient and powerful god, and two ordinary seeming humans. Humans with a whiff of time travel on them? Even curiouser, as Alice said.”

  
“Each of us brings talents to the hunt,” said Anubis, evidently the spokesman in this matter. “And if we must, we will find more talents to add to the search. Surely, Ancient One, the Sorcerer Supreme will understand the dangers of the Eye of Horus in hands that do not respect it.”

  
“Surely I do,” nodded the figure in yellow. “I can be certain that it is not in this city, the wider city, not simply Manhattan. Indeed, I do not sense anything of that nature having left even a trace for the last fifty years. But, as you say, the trail is quite cold.”

  
“Yet Thoth frets on it, and has sent us looking for it,” continued Anubis, eating his dessert with a fork quite neatly. “We will be more certain of our plans after speaking to the Museum folk on the morrow. My Lady Sam is known in archeological circles, and can speak with some authority with the Museum people. And we will know in less than an hour if it lurks anywhere inside the place, such as the storage and basement areas. We will not be trouble for you, Ancient One, we merely seek to find this thing.”

  
“And I cannot convince you it is not here,” sighed the magician, finally taking off her hood. “Very well, do your search, but you will find nothing, I am certain. Nazis at the time had pretty well developed means of getting things out of the city and the country, as this was a very busy port, and there were many sympathizers. You might try the Library, they have the Savage Collection, all annotated and cross referenced, and if he had anything to do with the thing, it would be mentioned in his files.”

  
“He would have used it, at least once,” said Sam, shaking her head. “He didn’t believe in magic, he would have tried to study it. That would mean using it, and destruction like that, it would be remarked on and remembered.”

  
“I fear you are right,” nodded the magician, a slight woman of indeterminate age, head bald with scars across it. “He was a curious, yet stubborn fellow, unable to believe in anything he could not test and replicate and measure. And once he found he could not explain it, he decided it must not be real. Considering the strange things he did deal with, one can hardly blame him.”

  
“I am aware that he had an archeologist on his team, but I do not know if he might have records of the Wadjet,” said Sam thoughtfully. “I can’t for the life of me think of the guy’s name, though.”

  
“William Harper Littlejohn,” said her phone from the table. “And all his archives have been searched without result. Digitized or scanned records have already been tested by my friend and I, and found wanting. We would have tried the police files, but they seem not to believe in computer archives past about the early Eighties.”

  
“And that is?” said the Ancient One, curiously, from her place by the rail, seeming unsurprised.

  
“Ah, Thoth, god of Wisdom and Writing,” said Sam, holding up her phone so that Thoth and Airwolf could see the Ancient One, and the sorceress could see her phone. “He learned how to get onto the Internet recently, and has been digging up the history and lore of the thing. If he says nothing’s on computer, nothing is. We’ll likely have to go old school. Talk to people, look in old files. Be easier if there was a file number for the case, for the police report, but I doubt there would be much more there than the Museum had. In the old days, they didn’t mind handing over police reports on stuff like that for insurance and records, these days, not so much.”

  
“Honored,” said the Ancient One, bowing slightly. “So you have two gods to assist you? You are no ordinary folk, but who is in this city? Be circumspect, I beg you, for the superheroes here are attracted by loud noises, explosions, shots and running. As much as it pains me to admit, they are frequently more use than mundane means of rescue and assistance. That Spiderman, for instance, his heart is definitely in the right place, and I have a very warm spot in my heart for Daredevil.”

  
“Yeah, Spidey’s a nice guy,” nodded Sam, putting her phone down again, done with her dessert. “Haven’t met Daredevil. As we don’t tend to instantly start fights with the costume crowd, most I’ve met are friends. We don’t want to do more than find the stolen thing and make sure it’s in safe hands, not use it to, dunno, rob banks or that kind of foolishness. Got money, don’t need more.”

  
“Yeah, but don’t talk to her about horses,” snorted Morgan, putting down his fork. “Money is just a means to get more horses, far as Sam is concerned.”

  
“Yep, when this all over, we’re goin’ to New Zealand to find a younger Kumara,” Sam told him. “And maybe a stallion, too. She’s gonna get too old someday, I’m pretty sure, even if twenty-two isn’t yet.”

  
“Later, dear,” he told her, smiling. “The nice magician doesn’t want to hear all about the horses.”

  
“I might, actually, if I had the time,” said the woman, putting up her hood again. “I always liked horses. Uncomplicated, honest souls, I always found. You can find me if you need me.”

  
And the time bubble vanished at her gesture, and Anubis was gone as well, back on the charm bracelet on Candace’s arm.


	46. Chapter 46

The next morning, Sam and her friends met with the Director of the Art Museum, or Sam and Morgan did, while Anubis and his daughter prowled the deeper parts of the Museum’s basement, storage and records, Pamela ghosting along with them in a form shrouded from mundane sight. Sam and Morgan talked about the rash of thefts that seemed to come around in clusters, and mentioned a particular interest in the ones during the Thirties. It turned out that the present Director had had a grandfather who was a guide at the Museum at the time of the thefts.

  
“Oh, yes, people were crazy back then,” said the older woman, a Mrs. Jeffries. “My grandpa said that the Oriental wing lost a casket that was supposed to be Genghis Khan's, solid silver, he said. Murdered the guard. And the theft of the Egyptian things, well, people were poor back then and the gangs of the Prohibition era, Nazi’s, Mafia, criminal masterminds, would-be conquerors, it was crazy. Every other week was some artifact or artwork stolen or sometimes recovered. According to my grandpa, the Shadow returned the Genghis Khan casket, but it turned out to be a modern fake, a way to get into the Museum. It was silver, though. Paid a lot of people’s salaries the next few years.”

  
“And did he mention the Wadjet, the Eye of Horus?” asked Sam, notebook in hand, for if this worked out, she would have story material. “I believe the common opinion of the man on the street ran toward Egyptian equaled treasure.”

  
“And it did, although nothing was really gained until spectrographs and microscopy advanced a bit,” agreed the woman. “Unfortunately, many in Egypt desecrated and destroyed mummies just to get to the amulets and gold inside, without thought to the value of their information or what could be learned. I believe the Eye of Horus, the one stolen, was found in an antechamber of Ramses tomb in the Valley of the Kings, behind a loose stone, as if temporarily hidden. The Museum acquired it through means that would be shady today, but were open and aboveboard back then.”

  
“And are they certain of the exact date of the theft?” asked Morgan, playing detective assistant, and rather enjoying himself. “I know that sometimes thefts are not immediately noted by people, if a mess is not made. And how was the thing being kept or displayed?”

  
“Oh, it was noticed immediately,” the Director assured them. “It was part of a major display, a large exhibit on Egyptian jewelry, one of the central pieces. Only a few other items were taken, and those mostly of gold, easily destroyed and monetized. Thank God they didn’t have something like Tut’s mask or something, as security in those days was abysmal. I assure you that the security and protection is much more sophisticated now. Not fool proof, I suppose, but no one is likely to steal things from this Museum. Unfortunately, art commands very high prices these days, and not all collectors care that their prized pieces are legal. I suspect there are a few penthouses in Manhattan that have stolen works on the walls.”

  
“I tend toward photos,” shrugged Sam, scribbling furiously. “I don’t suppose you have records that far back?”

  
“Oh, yes, we had a grant from Tony Stark a few years back to digitize everything, including stuff that was nailed down. He specified the records all the way back to the founding of the place. We scanned in anything we could find, down to a chewing gum wrapper someone left in a stack of invoices. He mentioned that the NYPD turned him down on that grant.”

  
“Rude,” shrugged Sam, nodding. “Probably took a look and decided not to immortalize a few less than savory incidents. Short sighted, too.”

  
“We thought so,” sighed Mrs. Jeffries. “It has made a great many things easier, I have to say. The Museum has a lot of stuff in storage that doesn’t get displayed often, but when we decide to do an exhibition, it is easy to find things to curate. And just casual run-throughs often reveal treasures forgotten, such as the early American artists we mean to display next year. There were quite a lot of canvases collected and donated to the Museum last century, the painters virtually unknown these days.”

  
Morgan’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he coughed slightly, the signal that Anubis and his family were done. Sam wrapped it up and they left on sterling terms with the director, who never suspected that her storage areas had been thoroughly searched.

  
Back in their huge suite at the Ritz-Carlton, they compared notes, and not a whiff of any Wadjet had been had by any of the five. They spent the afternoon casting about the Museum, several blocks around it, except for Candace and her keepers, Rose and Emma, who went on a carriage ride around the Park. As the three in the carriage were also hunting, but within the Park, it was, remarked Sam, a working vacation. Morgan promised her a real vacation, eventually.

  
At dinner, with Sam’s phone open to Thoth and Airwolf, they had to confess to each other that there was no sign of the thing, anywhere nearby. Airwolf seemed perfectly willing to take a trip to the past, but admitted that her crew were not yet aware of the plan. Sam suggested another meet at her place, in the next week or so, pressing the helicopter on what she might consider party food. The idea seemed to be a total non-sequitur to the AI, but Thoth promised he would provide her something. This remark made Sam and Morgan look at each other in confusion, and Candace found it very funny.

  
The next morning they all headed for JFK airport, and flew to San Diego. Anubis did most of the flying himself, but with his pilot in the copilot chair, apparently helping him polish his skills. Sam vaguely recalled that pilots needed hours of flight to qualify for things, and assumed that somewhere there was a very strange flight record.

  
Sam and Morgan left their friends at the airport in San Diego, taking a taxi home, and reunited with Brooke and Blue Hawke. Sam saddled up and rode for three hours on various horses, glad to be back on any horse. Morgan filled in Blue Hawk and Brooke as they watched her ride, and unpacked a bundle that Pamela had handed them as they parted for home.

  
Inside the package, wrapped in layers of burlap and cotton, were several pieces of jewelry that made Brooke gasp in amazement. Though her favorite styles were Navajo and sometimes art deco, the Egyptian style pieces were beautiful, delicately made and heavy. There were two collars and two wrist cuffs, gleaming gold and gemstones sparkling in the mountain air. A note in seriously meticulous writing, on papyrus, specified that they were from Anubis himself, and were to protect them.

  
The collars were elaborate, broad affairs with an inset symbol in the center of a sun surrounded by a cobra, beaded jewels spreading out in concentric circles around the neck. At the desire of the one wearing it, the collar would, according to Anubis, become a mere thin chain of gold, or become magical protection, like armor. The gold and lapis lazuli cuffs, presumably for the men, were not so gaudy, but just as heavy and expensive-feeling. Morgan and Hawk put theirs on and tried them out, surprised at the change in shape and mass. Once shrunken to golden threads, they were no heavier than their looks, but reverted to solid metal when recalled to their resting shapes.

  
“I’m fair tempted to go try out that protection thing, Hawk,” admitted Morgan as Sam finished her riding, Kumara standing close and sometimes nuzzling her. “But if all they protect from is magic, a bullet in any one of us here is not something I want.”

  
“Nor a knife,” nodded the Yaqui. “How about we try arrows? Wear that armor that the Senorita has, and I will try an arrow. I am not so out of practice as to miss, yet.”

  
“Now, that is an idea, Hawk,” nodded Morgan, admiring the way Brooke’s collar looked, even over the checked shirt she had put on that morning. It would look fabulous on something like black or white evening wear, he was pretty sure. Maybe good enough to get Sam to wear a dress? Sam had on a yellow t-shirt, and it looked quite good. Without taking it off, she used the directions to shrink it, and it was so light that she didn’t even feel her usual unease about things around her neck. Then Sam remembered the pearls and Brooke demanded to see those, too.

  
“Holy crap, Sam,” said Brooke, as the string of luminous golden pearls came out of the leather bag. “Those are worth a fortune. You say this Christine just gave ‘em to you? Even if they did come from just down the road in Bengalla, that’s not just a thank you for coming gift.”

  
“Heh, said they came out of the Minor Treasure Room,” said Morgan, knowing what to get Brooke for presents from now on. And might have to take Blue Hawk out to get a ring pretty soon, at that, way things seemed to be going. “Seems that the Wadjet might be destined for what they call the Major Treasure Room. Didn’t see either of those, but the man has a fine collection of guns and other weapons, so I don’t feel like I missed anything.”

  
By the end of dinner that evening, with a lot of back tracking, Brooke and Hawk were caught up with their friends’ adventures. The interference of ancient gods gave Brooke some pause, but Blue Hawk simply accepted it, as he had all the other strange things this new time had to offer. It was, in his opinion, just more interesting than bandits and land thieves. Brooke was not happy to hear about the probable time travel plan, as they had struck out with the search in New York. Neither one was happy about not being in on the plan.

  
“We need someone here for the horses, yes, but it doesn’t have to be me and Blue Hawk,” argued Brooke. “Let’s hire someone for the job and we’ll come, too. Don’t say we don’t have expertise, neither do you! And you told us Anubis thinks he can do this miniaturization thing with more than one person at a time, so, we come too. Oh, you know, it might have to be just us, you are pregnant, after all. What if the time to time travel comes, and you’re, I dunno, in labor?”

  
“Why you think we told you all about it?” sighed Sam. “Bad enough I’m gonna have to stop riding and start ground work, or even just pasture, but, yeah, I know it’s gonna be iffy. Thoth and the Pretty Bird are still exploring the idea of time, and I think they got Khonshu involved now, but they say they have a theory. Thoth wants me to toss something through the rift that he’s sending up, and I have no idea how that is supposed to work.”

  
“He’s a god, I’m sure he’s got a plan, Sam,” laughed Morgan, happy to be back home, and kind of surprised at how much he’d missed the place. “And if he doesn’t, the Lady will.”

  
“Nice that she’s got a friend to hang out with,” said Brooke, having made arrangements to have movers come the next day. “Seemed like it might be lonely with just Le Van and Dom, since I don’t see String sitting at a keyboard or talking much.”

  
“You two decide which half of the new place you want?” wondered Morgan as they got ready for bed. “I mean, mostly the same, either side, but maybe you like one or the other better?”

  
“Oh, we’ll be on the left, as you face the place,” said Brooke, shrugging. “I already planted some fruit trees. A grape vine over the entry, eventually, maybe a few on the patio.”

  
“And did you measure the barn?” asked Sam, as Morgan pushed her toward their bedroom. “For hiding purposes?”

  
“Too shallow,” said Brooke, shrugging. “I called the contractor and told him we needed another one built, but deeper and a bit higher, for riding in. He seemed thrilled to do it.”

  
“Heh, good idea,” said Sam, and that was the last articulate sound from Sam that Brooke and Hawk heard that night. Not that they spent much time talking, either.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the MCU says Cap got created in 1943, not 1939. But the Worlds Fair was 1939, and the comic came out December 1939. I reason that the comic needed some time to get made, so I changed it up some. Retcon, I guess.

Between Sam’s phone and her own research, the remarkable team of Airwolf and Thoth, supplemented, surprisingly, by Khonshu, made some predictions about the speed of time as it flowed on either side of the rift. To test this, Thoth and Anubis manufactured some tiny bird shabtis, nothing more than wooden birds with magic on them, to be released through the rift at stated intervals. The tiny wooden birds would, according to Thoth, fly from the point they were released to a point near the home, in California, of Anubis, Pamela and Candace. Pamela duly delivered the birds in a large wicker basket, Candace and Emma in tow, and they all had a nice time at the horse ranch. Anubis only startled Brooke and Hawk briefly.

  
By this time, everything had been moved the short distance to the new house, and Sam and Brooke were making lists of the things still needed, as the square footage in the new place was far greater than the old ranch house. The kitchen, however, was still completely intact, and they ate on the porch after evening feeding, discussing interesting facets of their proposed trek. A brief demonstration of her shooting skills, which Morgan had not seen previously, drew respect for Brooke’s credentials as an operative. She disliked the word spy. Later that night, after dark, a soft whicker of rotors, and a stirring of leaves announced their other guests. Sam, Brooke and Blue Hawk went in to get the special cake they had made for the occasion.

  
“I agree with everything Thoth has to say of her,” murmured the jackal god in actual awe. “She is beautiful! So sleek, so elegant! Ah, I must learn to fly helicopters, now. Even if I did not know she was a power, she would call to my heart with her lines.”

  
“Hey, String, Dom, Caitlin, Lady,” said Sam, setting the cake on the table as they set plates and forks out. Morgan brought out more glasses and pitchers of cold drinks they had ready in the fridge. “Got cake, iced tea, soda, lemonade, some other stuff, if you like. Just say what you want, I’ll see if I can whip it up.”

  
“Now, just hold on, there, Sam,” said Caitlin, grinning. “I wanna finally meet this god fella that the Lady keeps talking about and with. At least introduce us first. Then lemonade.”

  
“Oh, okay,” said Sam, shrugging. “Anubis, Lord of the West, god of justice, formerly god of mummification, husband of Pamela Wallace and father of Candace, fanboy of all things flight, Dominic Santini, master flight specialist, Caitlin O’Shannessy, copilot and old friend, and Stringfellow Hawke, pilot and agent, when he feels like it. Behind them is the lovely and talented Lady of the Howling Winds, the fastest ambulance I was ever in, or so I’m told.”

  
“Pleased to meet you,” said Dom, politely, shaking hands with the very strange being who had eyes only briefly for him, his ears and eyes straying toward Airwolf at any chance he got. Well, Dom could only respect that. He did have good taste.

  
“Wow, really an Egyptian god!” said Caitlin, impressed with the whole look of him. “Hope we can help you out.”

  
“And Pamela Wallace, his wife, and Candace, his daughter, and Emma Lavender, who keeps an eye on Candace,” added Sam, noting that Dom and Candace had more of an eye on the cake. “Now, have some cake and something to drink, then we’ll talk. I still don’t know what to offer our Lady friend for refreshments.”

  
As everyone had cake and something to drink, Sam went into the details of the Eye of Horus affair. From their meeting with Christine Walker, Pamela’s friend, and her strange and powerful husband, the Phantom, to the temples and monuments of Egypt. The sojourn through parts of New York, while useless, were also related to the crew, who had taken off their flight suits to reveal mostly shorts and t-shirts.

  
“Sam, that story has more twists and turns than a basket full of sidewinders,” Caitlin concluded, on her second piece of cake and third glass of lemonade. “You come to a dead end, then?”

  
“Well, in this time, anyway,” agreed Sam, reluctantly. “I mean, this thing is apparently powerful enough to blast things to bits like some kind of laser strike, but there’s been no whiff of it for sixty years or more. Now, as you all know, there’s a way to go back to when it happened, if we can figure out the way time works with that rift. I got a basket full of test pieces I’m to put through the thing at regular intervals to find out how it flows. Anubis, Thoth and Khonshu worked them out, and we hope to find out if the time flow is consistent, and if it is, if we can calculate it. Trouble is, I’m pregnant, and I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to do this, if it’s timed wrong. So, Brooke and Hawk may be doing my part.”

  
“And what do you need the Lady for?” asked Dom, not sure he believed in Anubis, but Thoth had been a helpful presence in Airwolf’s systems, lately. “We ain’t exactly Prohibition compliant.”

  
“Ah, that was kind of part of it,” shrugged Sam, having hardly touched her cake, but having her iced tea refilled twice. “See, we figure Dom might have some ideas on that time frame, how to blend in, how to find the thing in situ, as it were. And if you want, it would be really helpful to have you go back with us. However, I have no idea if the rift is big enough, and if the Lady’s electronics or mass or material would affect any of that. And part of her electronics would be useless, as there were no satellites to use for navigation back then, and paper maps were all we figured we’d have to hand.”

  
“The chameleon panels don’t need GPS,” said Caitlin, eagerly. “And we can scan in coordinates and maps before leaving. Heck, National Geographic was the gold standard of maps during World War Two, and we got at least as good. And it’s not like anything from that time could even conceive of the Lady, let alone outfly her.”

  
“Well, Doc Savage, whom we intend to avoid,” shrugged Sam, aware that some of the science hero’s devices were still in use, and some were still beyond the ability of current science to duplicate. “Don’t want to even breathe a word about the Wadjet to him, he’d want to study it, and Thoth and Anubis both say that is a very bad idea. With luck, he’ll be involved with some other lunatic and never know we were there.”

  
“How you gonna get more than one person there?” asked String, who had been quiet and listening closely all evening. “One extra seat, no more.”

  
“Ah, if I may,” said Anubis, standing up and commanding the area suddenly with his presence. He drew Pamela to her feet and held her hand with his left and in his right appeared the Ankh. He spoke some kind of word, and pointed at his daughter Candace, who was grinning. Candace disappeared, and the thin gold chain at Pamela’s throat held a new little charm. Anubis pointed at Sam, Morgan, Blue Hawk and Brooke in turn, and there were five charms on the chain, and the porch was much emptier.

  
“The people who go will be transported this way, you see,” the god told them, pointing to the tiny charms, which seemed to be little golden human figures. “I myself used to travel this way with my wife, before we bought the Lear Jet, as Customs is fussy about animals, and I could not use my canine form. I reasoned that it might work for others, and tried it on several servants back in Luxor. No ill effects were noted, and I tried it many different ways, to assure the safety of those important to me. Candace, my daughter, can escape the form easily, and all that is done in the presence of those transformed is heard and seen. There is no mass or weight exceeding that of gold beads that they appear to be. And there is no limit to how many I can so transform.”

  
“And nothing happens to the folks on the necklace?” asked Caitlin, peering at the charms. They all looked the same. “But only Candace can get out on her own?”

  
“True, my little Candace has been learning magic, and is half god herself,” nodded Anubis, with a grin like a happy collie. “I believe that, with a little work, Pamela might also be able to escape that form. But until I call them forth, our other friends are stuck there.”

  
“Does it have to be Pamela with the necklace?” asked Caitlin, curiously, for the thin gold thread the charms hung from seemed awfully flimsy. “I mean, is Pam going with us?”

  
“No, she and Candace will be staying here,” said Anubis thoughtfully, as suddenly, Candace was grinning at them from her chair again. “I am not sure when this will happen, as we have not yet calculated the time flows, and it may be that my little girl has other things to be doing. And if things go horribly wrong, the two of them will know what to do, I believe.”

  
Moments later, all the others were back, comparing notes on the unexpected, but not at all painful experience. Sam confessed to a discomfort being unable to move, but nothing like her post-rape dislike of most immobility. Morgan had found it quite rife with possibilities, wondering if horses, too, could be transported so. Anubis said he didn’t see why not.

  
Most of the evening passed pleasantly, the main entertainment after that being Anubis wangling a ride in the Lady. About midnight, he was allowed to board the gleaming helicopter, having magicked himself a flight suit. String allowed him to fly in the copilot’s seat, with Caitlin and Dom in the back. They lifted off and were gone for about two hours, returning to find only Sam and Morgan waiting up for them.  
Anubis was practically glowing with excitement, and while Caitlin got back in the copilot seat, the god and Dom talked quite animatedly for some minutes. Then Anubis reluctantly closed the door and the Lady vanished, the whirl of dust in the barn lights showing her departure.

  
“Have fun?” grinned Morgan at the god, handing him a glass of iced tea with a straw. “You must have got the full tour, long as you were gone.”

  
“Oh, it was amazing!” gushed the god, slurping down the tea and magically refilling it. “We went faster than the Lear can go! And so maneuverable, and responsive, it was astonishing. And the Lady herself, so sweet that cub, she is quite fond of her people, too. She thinks of this little time jaunt as possibly a means to find her pilot’s brother, if our journey works out. We are her little experiment, heh.”

  
“And where did you go?” asked Morgan, curiously, as they headed toward the new house where Pamela and Candace and Emma were in two of the guest rooms. “I think it doesn’t matter, the Lady is supposed to be almost invisible to radar, as well as sight.”

  
“Oh, we went to a place of canyons, and the pilots could fly, even in the dark, with night vision in their helmets,” said Anubis, thinking about it. “I didn’t need that, my vision is different than mortals’, but it must be a great advantage in their work, that those helmets are so high tech. I want one, but I know it would be weird to have one that fit me. I have made arrangements with the esteemed Dominic Santini to take lessons with an ordinary helicopter, so that I might understand more about the Lady. And, of course, to have fun! Oh, I have not had so much fun since I first met my beloved Pamela! You must never tell her I said so, naturally.”

  
The Anubis family left the next morning after breakfast, and after all the horses had been fed, Sam and Morgan left for the time rift with their horses in the trailer. At the rift, Sam took one wooden little bird out of the closed basket and tossed the thing through, not going in herself. It vanished completely, so the rift was still there. They repeated this once a week for two months, until they were out of birds, then called Pamela and let her know.

  
Sam’s parents finally got back from Bengalla, and shortly after that, had arranged a huge party, as Sam had predicted. They rented out the Hotel Del Coronado, or at least the ball room, and Sam, with cajoling from Brooke and Morgan, wore an elegant dress of white that didn’t show too much of her tummy. Around her neck was the fabulous gift from Anubis, a matching one on Brooke. Morgan looked amazing in a tux, rented for the occasion, as he didn’t find one he liked well enough to buy. Blue Hawk, also wearing a tux, was elegantly squiring Brooke around with the haughty air of European nobility, having adopted a suitable name and persona for the evening.

  
It went well, for the most part, Sam’s mom looking quite healthy and very happy, surrounded by her gossiping society friends. Sam and Brooke, not really society people, found other, mostly younger people to talk to and dance with. Morgan, Sam found, was a very good dancer, and with his lead, she found she rather enjoyed it, instead of finding dancing to be a chore. Pamela and Candace, while invited, had sent regrets, as they were currently touring colleges for Candace to attend.

  
Airwolf’s crew, though invited, also declined, as they had a scheduling conflict with a movie shoot. As it was one of Sam’s favorite movie franchises, she couldn’t feel bad about it. Anubis, who was with his family touring colleges, had been carefully not looking at the place the shabti birds were supposed to end up. He wanted to wait until they had all been sent, and when he and Thoth and Khonshu could examine them. Anubis had been quite taken with the concept of a flight recorder, and incorporated the idea into the shabtis. Sam hoped they weren’t losing their window of opportunity, but she also hoped that she would hurry up and have the baby. It was getting awkward, and she could no longer ride easily, if at all.

  
As the party went off without any social disasters, Sam’s mother was satisfied, and Sam and Morgan went home to finish putting the huge house in order. They found a barn manager, willing, even eager to live in the old house, and hired her son for heavy labor like fencing and hay. Brooke and Airwolf both checked them out to their childhood years and pronounced them probably safe. The animal sculptures from Bengalla arrived and made the entry and living room of Sam and Morgan’s half of the house quite striking, the Phantom piece not yet shipped. Sam’s huge collection of books and movies all fit in the library, for now, and the baby’s room was finished just in time.

  
The baby, Adam Bruce Wayne, was born in early December, and was a hefty little boy. Sam and Morgan hired a young nurse for him almost the first thing. Nothing like the growth Candace displayed, he still seemed to grow faster than normal children, be alert and start crawling and walking more quickly. Anubis denied having any hand in this, but Sam still thought that his ‘housekeeping’ might have had something to do with it. Suzy Santillano, the Phillipino American nurse, was quite happy with her job, and permission for her family to come up and play with the horses on the weekends was just a happy perk. She had a very large family, with mostly little sisters who were thrilled with the idea of ponies. Sam suspected that their idea of horses were more ‘My Little Pony’ than reality, but it wouldn’t hurt them to learn.

  
By Anubis and Thoth’s calculations, and checked by Airwolf and Khonshu, they would be able to leave the present in mid spring, and arrive in June of 1939. The theft of the Wadjet happened in July of 1939, and they planned to get there early, so as to have some leeway, in case of accidents, problems or trouble of any kind. Sam and Morgan had by that time, got some sleep, and were ready. They had studied as much as they could of the period, bought guns that would fit in, mostly, and had even, in Sam’s case, found clothes and shoes she could deal with. Probably. Although she was still a little pudgy from the baby, she was working hard to get back into riding condition.

  
With Anubis' trick with the necklace everyone decided to go, with Le Van sitting in the fourth seat, and Caitlin wearing the necklace Anubis gifted her with. Each of Airwolf’s four crew had a protective device, courtesy of the Jackal god, and a pile of gold chains that appeared on the cabin floor had been stowed in various places around the war machine’s insides. Airwolf herself had been practicing with her chameleon light panels, and could now seem to be a large bird, in addition to being a piece of sky or land. The plan was to simply translate to the proper time, fly to the nearest town to verify the date, then head for New York.

  
Sam’s phone had Bes in it, Morgan’s had a version of Khonshu, and Brooke had Sekhmet, Blue Hawk’s phone housed Thoth and Ma’at had settled in Le Van’s iPhone. Sam didn’t understand how they could all be in separate phones, and still be in Christine’s amulet, but that was the business of gods, she supposed. She had a kind of nightmare about getting to the Thirties and being stuck there without any of their guardian deities, but it was only a bad dream. Anubis assured her it would not happen, as he would be perfectly capable of simply turning all of them, helicopter included, to stone for the time it took to get home.

  
“Nothing will prevent my return to my girls,” he told Sam cheerfully. “I must admit, this is an adventure for me. It has been such a long time since something truly unique and interesting has happened to me, that I quite look forward to it. Now, are you sure that you can survive on the fuel that they had in the olden days, my lovely cub? I could always try to charm a fuel truck for you.”

  
“Aviation fuel is little more than high grade kerosene, readily available in those days, early though they were,” said the soft voice of the helicopter. “I am capable of using diesel, if I must, so all will be well, as I anticipate no acrobatic dog-fights like last week. If this works, perhaps we will try for Sinjin next, String, Le Van.”

  
“Yeah,” said String, taking up his helmet, and rolling his flight suit cuff down over the gold and blue bracelet Anubis had given him. “Let’s get moving before the sun gets up.”

  
Anubis gestured at each of them in turn, and they became charms on Caitlin’s necklace, then so did he. Caitlin left her flight suit unzipped at the neck so that they could all see what was to be seen. Sam, alone in the little, motionless world she was trapped in, still reveled in finally seeing the inside of Airwolf, and sitting in the pilot’s seat. Sort of. She could see the instruments glowing green and low yellow, hear the hum of systems checks and feel the rotors start, see the darkness outside the windows. Preflight was brief, and with four competent, experienced pilots, almost silent. Airwolf lifted up in quiet grace, and feathered up and out across the forest edge.

  
The place of the rift was clearly marked by now, using a small pair of solar powered garden lights, a very faint trail made by Sam and Morgan’s horses, and the GPS notations they had taken each time they had set a shabti free. Airwolf ghosted down to almost brush the ground, lined up on the lights and wafted through the air with a caution that was fully warranted, in Sam’s opinion. The size of the rift had been impossible to measure, and it would have been a very nasty surprise if the rotors hadn’t seen fit to come along for the trip. However, this seemed not to happen, at least as far as Sam could tell, and everyone still possessing a body seemed relieved as they floated over the edge of the steep hill to hover over the wide valley.

  
“Well, GPS is out,” said Hawke, “Dom, you got anything on radio?”

  
“Do I ever! I got swing, classical, a news program out of Los Angeles, some mariachi stuff from Tijuana, and, by golly, a Lone Ranger broadcast! Say, Sweetheart, record any of those you catch, please, some of ‘em were lost. I’d definitely say we got back, but I ain’t sure exactly the date yet. You get anything on that, Le Van?”

  
“My iPhone is picking up a military channel, I think from San Diego,” said Le Van. “No one seems too concerned with what today’s date is.”

  
“Well, then we don’t have to worry about bein’ too late,” said Caitlin, pleased. “If we were too late, we’d be hearin’ all kinds of stuff about the war. Should we hang around and try to find a newspaper or something, or just go to New York? Might be easier to get a newspaper from some cowtown or farm burg in the middle of the country, and on our way.”

  
“All they got now is experimental, and pretty primitive radar, right, Uncle Dom?” said Le Van, concentrated on his earpods and iPhone. “I got nothing even looks like a radar trace. Can we just head anywhere without dodging anyone? Cool.”


	48. Chapter 48

By the time they got to the Mississippi, they had radio confirmation of the date from a news cast. It was June fifteenth, almost a month before the theft would occur. They had plenty of time, and the crew and their sentient machine searched data for appropriate hiding places within reach of their target. Possible hiding places included barns and airfields, several rooftops in the actual city itself, and the stereotypical abandoned warehouses on the Jersey side of the river. Airwolf herself opted for the rooftop plan, as she could easily tell what sort of structural strength a place had, and that was the closest flat area to be had.

  
“And if I need to come to you quickly, that would be the best,” she concluded fiercely. “It is a city far less populated than our own version, I might add. And disappointingly shorter buildings, too. I had anticipated more of a challenge, really.”

  
“Darlin’,” laughed Caitlin, “don’t call down the thunder! At least nothing can possibly guess that there’s a machine on the roof, as hardly anyone in this day and age has a helicopter. Don’t they call them auto-gyros?”

  
“There are primitive helicopters of various types,” agreed Airwolf, as Hawk slowed to check on an airfield that seemed deserted. They were only in Tennessee, so it was just curiosity. “Nothing to get excited about. Most are flimsy, unreliable and quite slow. Even aircraft of this time are unpressurized, so nothing should be high enough to even notice us.”

  
“Unpressurized?” repeated Le Van, surprised. “How do they fight the war that’s coming, then? Can’t even safely drop a bomb without being up there quite a bit.”

  
“Most of ‘em flew with just heavy leather coats, wool pants, gloves and boots,” said Dom, remembering. “And sheepskin hats, and if you were lucky, some oxygen. Mostly, they just flew low and got shot up. Lotta planes got shot down.”

  
“Yeah, that’s why they call those cool leather jackets bomber jackets,” contributed Caitlin. “Back in the day, they had their unit or their plane’s name across the back, and wore ‘em ‘til they fell apart, too.”

  
“My older cousin flew a B-17 over Germany during the War,” nodded Dom, as they headed back toward New York, String’s interest satisfied. “He didn’t come back from the last mission, over Frankfort. Couldn’t fly higher than the guns could shoot.”

  
“You know, Dom, Hitler invades Poland in September,” said Caitlin, having done her history homework. “Right now, they have a ‘non-aggression pact’ between Poland and Germany. Any chance we could warn some folks what’s coming and be believed?”

  
“Who’d ya have in mind, Cait?” said Dom, shaking his head. “Polish folk don’t trust those bastards anyhow, and we ain’t here to change history. It’d be nice to maybe warn some of the Jewish folks that are gonna be killed, but how?”

  
“I don’t know, but what if we warn the Jewish folks here in New York who still got relatives over there?” asked Le Van, who had too much experience with war and refugees, having been one himself. “Maybe they can get them to come here, a lot of folks did, and we don’t know if we’ll help or not. And if we don’t know, well, maybe we helped, maybe we didn’t.”

  
“Lady, can you pick up any communications from Germany?” asked String, his hand still steady on the throttle. “Or any German communications here? Especially coded ones? I can’t imagine you and Thoth would have trouble breaking any codes.”

  
“Ha ha, String, you sly fox,” laughed Dom. “Yeah, that we could do, and probably throw a few wrenches into their spy games, as well as find the Whatsit.”

  
“I was thinking more of the Wadjet,” said the pilot, as the landscape was gradually turning into more cities than farms. Factories now belched smoke from places around them, and Airwolf dodged their output to avoid noxious fumes and cinders in her rotors. “But if there is something covert, we probably ought to know about it.”

  
“Hydra sent agents out looking for stuff, and they used codes,” said Le Van, who paid attention to anything having to do with his childhood hero, Captain America. “And they might be the ones looking for the Eye. Thoth said it was super destructive, and at the time, that was Hydra’s M.O.”

  
“I have records of what sort of frequencies and codes were used at the time,” Airwolf’s soft voice told them, as they banked a little to get over the Appalachian Mountains. “I am certain that I can find any transmissions, overt or covert, from such sources. Nothing that they used for codes could be proof against me. A COBOL computer would have no trouble with such simple codes.”

  
“Don’t be too condescending, Princess,” said Dom warningly. “We’re talking about Hydra here. If you get a whiff of them, take care they don’t get your scent. Remember what Brooke said about those low down dirty types. I’d rather they got me than you.”

  
“They will get nothing of the sort,” said Thoth’s voice in some finality. “And I seem to have found a news station interested in overseas news, which is not at all good. I remember the Nazis well enough, they needn’t be so fair to them! I recall we want to avoid the Empire State Building, and that Savage fellow, so perhaps more on the Upper East Side? Pity, I was hoping to explore Chinatown a bit.”

  
“Can’t play tourist right now, sorry,” said Caitlin, scanning the coastal area coming up. “Okay, that’s a lot less developed than I expected. We could practically land in Central Park, if we felt like it. There’s the Museum, and what’s that building across from it?”

  
“The one with the flat roof?” said Dom, with a grin. “I think that’s our landing pad, Cait. How about it, darlin’? Can it hold you and us? And who lives there, do we think?”

  
“It is structurally sound, able to withstand even a heavy landing, if I were to be clumsy,” said Airwolf, and Dom thought he detected a bit of humor. “It appears to be for sale, from the sign in the lower window. But perhaps it is only that apartment. After all, this is Fifth Avenue on the Park, very pricey real estate.”

  
“Land careful, String,” said Dom, “and we’ll see what the passengers think. They were here not too long ago, they’ll know if this building was still here in our day, or if it maybe got sold. If it’s for sale, it’d be convenient to stay here for however long it takes.”

  
Without a word, String slowly set the Lady down on the flat roof, edged with a low parapet to hide various flues and vents. One end of the building had a sort of shack thing on it, with a door. The other end seemed to have some kind of water tank, probably for the plumbing. With her rotors still spinning slowly, Airwolf settled fully to the gravelly tar paper of the roof, which groaned a little, but appeared to be of stern stuff indeed.

  
“The structure of this building seems to indicate that it was intended to be taller,” said the Lady in her soft voice. “If I am to keep the chameleon panels active, I might need an outside energy source. Perhaps a power cable could be arranged later?”

  
“Princess, I will find you one myself,” Le Van promised, cheerfully. It would be an opportunity to run around old time New York City. Mobsters, mystery men, crooked cops, crooked politicians, and Nazis to be hunted. “Gotta find out who wants the Wadjet, might as well get you settled, as well.”

  
String checked the dials and switches and all the details needed for Airwolf to be powered down, having had to modify that list considerably after the Hidden and Thoth had done their magic with the Lady. Now, she didn’t really power all the way down, as her electronic systems were always, to some degree, active. In this environment, she needed to keep her electronic ears open, for they had no way to find any Nazis without some kind of radio intercept. Unless, of course, they went with Caitlin’s plan, he told himself.

  
Caitlin had simply proposed that she and Sam go into any dive bar they could find and rough people up until they found someone to tell them what they wanted to know. Airwolf had informed them that there were literally hundreds of bars that met that description, now that Prohibition was over. Caitlin’s response had been to rub her hands in glee. “It always works in the movies!”

  
Once the four crew had checked the area out carefully, finding the local buildings mostly lower than their current roost, and nothing that seemed too observational, they let their passengers out, careful to make it appear that they had come out of the little shack, which seemed to be roof access. As Airwolf was still invisible, their own appearance would have to be strange enough, if they had had the bad luck to be observed. Sam looked around briefly and raised an eyebrow at Brooke, who took point through the unlocked door and down the stairs. Sam and Morgan followed, Anubis in his dog form padding silently along with them, Blue Hawk bringing up the rear. Brooke, knowing Sam and Morgan were right behind her, made sure not to have a gun in hand, but moved like a wraith down the stairs to the first landing.

  
With a quick glance into each room, they found the place empty, and it seemed to have been so for some while. All eight floors seemed to be the same. Sam took the number of the real estate agency from the sign in the front window and used her very small comm set to tell Airwolf and her crew that they were in the clear. Anubis made a full inspection of the building, nosing into all the rooms, even into the basement, and soon reported that not only was no one here, but no one had been for some weeks.

  
“It seems to be abandoned, but you say it is for sale?” he asked, having shifted into his anthropomorphic form, although carefully away from any windows. “Perfect. Buy it, my friends, I shall make enough gold to do so, pricey though it may be. We only need it for a month or so, and it is as perfect a place as may be. I seem to recall a parking structure on this site in our future.”

  
“That was what I remembered, too,” agreed Sam. “Let me get changed and we can go get some gold changed into currency. We’re on Manhattan, banks are everywhere. I think. I guess you can pick your place to settle in, guys. Once we get this place set up as ours, and we’ve got currency, we set out in teams to snoop around. Now, Nazis aren’t exactly hiding at the moment. If they haven’t already, they have a huge rally at Madison Square Garden this year. Lots of sympathizers here, so keep a low profile and hang out near likely spots. Le Van, you are not going to be able to blend in with Nazis, sneaky though you may be. But I trust your training gives you the means to overcome that little problem. The World’s Fair is here now, and we might get a look at that, and I think that Captain America is being made somewhere in Brooklyn right about now.”

  
“I know the address,” said Le Van, eagerly. “And it happened yesterday, actually. Should be in the papers today. I think I can do something like delivery boy or maybe just bystander or something, but I’ll need a hat.”

  
“Okay, Anubis and Morgan and I will head for a bank,” said Sam, not entirely happy with her outfit, but willing to play frumpy wife with her handsome husband. Morgan looked pretty well turned out, with shined shoes and a neat shirt and tie. He carried a small handbag in black that resembled a doctor’s bag. Sam held a flimsy leash in her hand, but didn’t have it attached to Anubis’ collar. “While we’re gone, see if you can get that real estate number to answer, Brooke. Maybe the phones here still work, and maybe the Lady can tap into them.”

  
“Yeah, we know the plan,” said String, hand never far from his gun, standing near the door, where he could watch the street outside. He had taken off his flight suit, and stowed it with the others in the empty missile compartment of Airwolf’s left side. Caitlin was hanging up a few dresses she’d taken out of her bag. Dom and the others had all had small bags packed with period wear they had snagged from a movie costume department. As they had been from an award winning show about the gangsters of New York and the post Prohibition age, they were perfect. Having had no such source, Brooke and Sam were decidedly less well dressed for the time, and had decided to just shop in the time itself, if they had the scheduled leeway to do it. After all, you never knew where you would find a trail to their thief.

  
Sam and Morgan, with Anubis pretending to be a dog, walked a little way from their new lair, and after a little while, found a taxi. Sam had provided herself with a few dollars in bills and change from the correct time, before leaving, and was able to pay the man when he dropped them off at a jewelers place in the diamond district. He had assured them that they bought gold there, and that the guy was fairly honest.

  
“Course, he’s a Jew, so, he ain’t gonna give ya a deal,” warned the cabby, as they stood on the sidewalk and Sam dug out all the stuff she had for the fare. “But, ya know, he’s an honest Jew, see?”

  
“Well, that was racist,” sighed Sam as they all walked into the building and took the ornately decorated elevator up to the proper floor. “But if he’s Jewish, maybe we can do a little of Le Van’s work, while we’re at it.”

  
“Yeah, I guess I got used to how fair things are with you and Brooke and your time,” shrugged Morgan, still holding their little bag. “Kinda shocked at that. I forget how this war goes, still.”

  
The office of the gold dealer, or jeweler, as it said on the door, was small, but neat, having several men with yarmulkes on their heads hunched over their desks making small adjustments to either watches or accounts. Morgan announced that they were here to sell some gold, and one of the older men set aside the things on his desk and brought out a small scale and several ledgers.

  
“Ain’t ya got a bigger set of scales than that?” asked Morgan, surprised. “I ain’t talking a ring or some flakes. This here’s all the wealth we could carry from Europe. Ain’t leavin’ it for those Nazi vultures to get at. Oh, they’ll get the estate and lands, but not the rest, and not the family.”

  
“Sir, you do not sound as if you were from Europe,” said the older man, who seemed to be the eponymous Rothstein of Rothstein and Co. “But I quite agree, Nazis should not get things free. What sort of gold do you mean to sell?”

  
“This here,” said Morgan, upending the bag and dumping about forty pounds of gold on the desk. Chains, mostly, but some chunky ingots and a few roughly circular discs. “And I married into the family, see? But I know what it looks like when the barbarians are at the gates. The family got out, I made sure the servants and such had choices, or came with us. Don’t trust banks, 'specially German banks, these days. It’s too bad about the horses, but we’d never have made it out with them.”

  
“Oh, dear, I had heard rumors, but is it that close?” said another man, a little younger. “I mean, surely my family in Poland is safe, what with the Agreement.”

  
“I heard Nazis openly sneering at that,” said Sam soberly. “Thought I couldn’t understand them. No, and anyone Jewish, Gypsy, or even a little dark, is gonna be in a German cell, if they’re lucky, a slave camp if they aren’t. Anyone you got over there, get them out, and don’t waste time. My gypsy aunt says Poland falls this winter. She’s never wrong. She’s coming in next week.”

  
“My Choctaw granny said the world will fight again this year and for five years after,” nodded Morgan, as the gold lay forgotten on the table. “She knows. Been laying in food on the farm for over a year now.”

  
“My Nana said much the same,” said the youngest of the men, looking up from his watch. “I believe her. If the US gets into it, I’ll sign up with the New York Guards. I’ve been hunting, I can shoot.”

  
“Still, need to convert this stuff so we can get settled here,” reminded Morgan. “All that’s left of the estate in Austria, the hunting lodge in Hungary. I hope Georg manages to hide the horses in the forest, those bastard Germans will kill them for food or ride them to death.”

  
“Oh, yes, of course,” said the older man, getting out a much larger set of scales. “I usually use this one for silver or copper. Now, let’s see, is this all you have?”

  
“No, but we needed working capital, not to convert the reserves,” Morgan told him, aware that Anubis could apparently make as much of the stuff as he chose. “I need a place for folks to stay here in town, and so we can get back on our feet. The older folks need some stability right now, and we’ll probably buy a place near the Park, saw one for sale on the way here. Think that might cover a building there? Dunno how much land and improvements go for here.”

  
“If this is the quality of gold you have with you, then, yes, it very well might cover a nice building on the Park.” nodded Jacob Rothstein. “I do not have such a large amount of cash, however, but the Diamond Bank does carry that sort of thing. Unless you would prefer a draft?”

  
“Well, we gotta look around for a building,” Morgan told him, shrugging. “And we’ll need some local currency. “How would we arrange that? Given that I have more of this gold, and someone will have to help us with that. It might as well be you, if you help grease the skids, here.”

  
Eventually, with some trouble with conversions, and a few tax forms, they headed back to their building with a small satchel full of large bills. The Diamond Bank had indeed been able to accommodate them, and proved willing to do so again. However, gold was only worth about thirty eight dollars an ounce, as opposed to over a thousand in their own time. But money, in their current present, was worth more. Brooke had managed to get the company that held the deed to the building on the phone, and had arranged to see someone the next day, and had carefully arranged her outfit and Blue Hawk’s.


	49. Chapter 49

“Sam, no worries,” said Brooke confidently. “It’s not like records are a big thing right now. And as a Spanish nobleman looking for a new place before his country gets overrun, Hawk can do haughty like nobody’s business. The cash won’t even raise an eyebrow, I bet.”

  
“Senora,” said Hawk, bowing over Sam’s hand, without touching it with his lips. “I am Juan Manuel Esteban Montoya y Castillo de Leon, Duke of Osuna and Count Levin, here to find new business opportunities in your lovely country.”

  
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” said Morgan, having had experience with Blue Hawks quick wits and ease with acting parts. “You gonna carry cash, Hawk?”

  
“I am a grandee of Espania,” said Hawk with a curl of his lip. “I do not carry money. Servants and hirelings do that.”

  
“Ah, and will that be you, Brooke? asked Sam, wondering if that would make an impression on the seller that they wanted. “Or one of us?”

  
“No, Dom will be our interpreter and manservant,” said Brooke, grinning. “He knows who to talk to, who to deal with, names, that kind of thing. Local hire, as Don Manuel Esteban’s household is occupied with transporting the estancia and the family here from Espania. And I’d like to see someone try to take money from the three of us.”

  
“Ah, and would Don Manuel Esteban care to take his rare, Ibizan hound with him on this expedition?” inquired Anubis, lounging on a couch he had created from thin air in the second floor room that they were using to observe the street. He had created quite a lot of furniture, enough to give the place an almost lived in look. “I believe I might be able to influence the seller in our favor, should difficulty arise.”

  
“Well, I think that would be great,” said Dom, imagining it. “I can be all local and Italian, which in this period means kinda shady, but on the make, and Anubis can be even more undercover than us. Brooke, you got a good outfit for this, like all those ladies out there?”

  
“Yes, I went to a couple of websites and I think I’ll blend in fine,” shrugged Brooke. “It’s mostly girdles and pointy bras under puffy shoulders and mid length skirts. Hose and low heels and I’m good. I suppose a hat would be better, but I couldn’t find anything right for the red outfit.”

  
“Ah, come sit here with me and show me what you want,” invited Anubis, as he gestured out the window. “Yes, many women seem to be wearing very useless hats. Whatever would they need such things for? If it rained, all those things would do is hold more water, not protect their heads.”

  
Shortly, Brooke had a neat, small, fedora-like hat in matching red for her outfit.

  
Sam, refusing to wear skirts, no matter what, admitted to Morgan that she wasn’t going to blend in with her jeans and polo shirts, or even the dressy check shirt she’d picked out. Still, her intent was to hunt around in the park, maybe follow up leads of local Nazi groups, not stage a fashion show. She wasn’t going to look particularly feminine, no matter what.

  
“So?” said Le Van, putting on his slouch hat and jacket. “Don’t look like a girl, look like a guy, just not a noticeable one. Be anonymous. Slouch, loiter, hide under a hat and baggy clothes. You don’t walk like a girl, so don’t be a girl.”

  
“Except if we go bar hopping,” said Caitlin, having opted for the Western look that was fairly popular in the city, of jeans, checked shirt, neckerchief and hat. She had drawn the line at cowboy boots, but her shoes gave that impression, in spite of rubber soles and steel toes. “Then we go like this, and see what we can find out. Heh, I think I might go with String, just to see how it might work.”

  
“Well, this might end up our base of operations, but the shady part of town is the Lower part of Manhattan, Hell’s Kitchen, the Lower East Side, the Bowery, Little Italy, Chinatown,” said Sam, thinking about it. “We’ll have to take a cab ride down there to see what is where, and if anyone gets a whiff of Nazi. I think they were running in a fairly aboveboard way until the Polish invasion. Maybe they have a clubhouse? I know there’s a big rally in a few months, that wouldn’t happen anonymously.”

  
With the help of Anubis, they made a kind of cold camp in the empty mansion, and with everyone in costume, went out to eat that night. Local diners were fairly upscale, being on the Park, and the bistro they chose was modest of menu, but high toned as to prices. They paid without a word, as the entourage of the Duke of Osuna, and left a nice tip, and on the way back to their digs, picked up some food and some ideas. It seemed that most of the shady dealings, according to their cabby, happened at night, the more upscale at Clubs like the Cobalt or the Stork, or the others at dives, or clubs in Harlem.

  
“Harlem,” said Sam, faintly, as she stopped inside their door. “Oh, my gods, this is the Harlem Renaissance! Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Bessie Smith, Billie Holliday! We could see them in person! Okay, new plan, at least one night, we go there. Gotta find out who’s playing where, and everyone, phones on record! Why didn’t I think of that before? I love Satchmo.”

  
“Hey, yeah, the Cotton Club, the Savoy, the Apollo,” agreed Dom, looking eager. “Man, those guys were legends, and hardly any recordings from those places survive. Yeah, we come all this way, time? we gotta go see at least one show.”

  
“For that, I’ll wear a dress, even a girdle,” sighed Sam, resigning herself to going shopping for clothes. Clothes that she might only wear once, maybe twice, but if it would get her a night with live jazz, she’d do it. As she recalled, those places wouldn’t even let you in the door without a jacket and tie, if you were a guy, she’d probably actually have to spend some money on something upper crust. No furs, she promised herself.

  
“And you’ll need to get your hair done,” Caitlin told her, as Brooke tried to look less than gleeful at this chance to dress up her old friend. “Yeah, all of us are gonna need to do that for a night out like that. Gotta find out about reservations, who’s playing. Can’t go to the Savoy, none of us dance well enough for that, they had contests.”

  
“Crap,” muttered Sam, softer than most could hear. Well, String and Le Van would hear, and Morgan, and probably Anubis. “I’m gonna have to wear dresses.”

  
“Don’t think of them as clothes,” urged Morgan, with a grin she swore she’d make him pay for. “Think of them as costumes.”

  
The next day Brooke, Dom and Blue Hawk bought the mansion, for a little less than a million dollars. Cash. No questions. The questions of their real estate man were not asked, or answered, but the talk between the four of them, Anubis included, had answered most of his curiosity. A nobleman of European origin, fleeing the storm clouds of coming war was hardly unique, and if the said noble had no idea what upkeep on such a property would be, well, he’d have to resell, and commissions were keeping the real estate man and his family in their own home. He handed the keys to Brooke and walked off with a large bag of cash to a waiting cab.

  
“He thinks we have nothing else to spend,” chuckled the god, as they closed the door behind them. “He is sure we will be selling the place back to him in less than a year. I almost want to keep the place to spite him. Well, now we may settle ourselves some, and put our plans in motion.”

  
“Yeah, String and Le Van are up on the roof working on putting the Lady on land current,” said Sam, having gone shopping with Morgan. “Le Van got the cable this morning and they’re having to jury rig connections. No such thing as modern extension cords here.”

  
“Ah, I should go help,” said Anubis, striding over to the staircase and disappearing rapidly.

  
“Okay, Brooke, Hawk, Dom, how about utilities? Do we have electricity or water or phones? I mean, legit, not the way you got the realty guys.”

  
“Well, Anubis kinda did something that made all that stuff active,” said Brooke, shrugging. “I suppose we can call the phone and power companies and arrange things tomorrow. I know that Airwolf was looking forward to trying the communications systems out. I told her, it’s nothing like the internet, but she thinks she might have an idea.”

  
“Even an AI helicopter wants a hobby,” shrugged Morgan, grinning. After converting a lot more gold, they had been shopping. Sam had a lot more clothes than she wanted, now. But he’d had the fun of having her try stuff on. The shop girls had been very helpful, somewhat disappointed that he hadn’t been interested in flirting with them. The purchases had filled a taxi, and now mostly filled a closet. Closets here were pretty small, he said to himself, thinking the place needed some wardrobes, at least. The building had apparently been built by some railroad magnate in his day, and cast off once the country estate had been finished.

  
“Okay, let me see what kind of stuff you bought, Sam,” said Brooke, with Caitlin on her heels, nodding. “I don’t think you know what you should be wearing, and you may need to go out with us.”

  
“Oh, gods, I don’t want to wear what I have,” sighed Sam, being dragged off to explore clothes. “But we need to go out to eat, so help me put something on, okay?”

  
“We’ll turn you into a real lady, Sam,” Caitlin told her with glee in her eyes. “You watch us! Oh, dang, lipstick, make up, all that stuff! I got completely different color than Sam, Brooke, we’ll need all new stuff! More shopping!”

  
“Did we just come to the Nineteen Thirties to shop?” whined Sam, as she heard Blue Hawk, who never laughed, collapse in gales of giggles.

  
An hour later, Caitlin, Brooke and Sam emerged in their ‘costumes’ and they all left for dinner. This time, to practice their blending in, they went to a fancier place, one with some live music and a show. The performers were all black, but the audience and clientele were all white. Their waiter even gave Le Van a supercilious look, though nothing was said. Dinner was good, the show was nice, the music was very good. No one seemed to think they were odd, and paying in cash seemed normal here.

  
After dinner, Anubis now in canine form, they took a couple of taxis to look around the city and pick the brains of their cabbies. Anubis used some kind of subtle magic on theirs, and Brooke and Sam listened closely to all the things he knew about the city and it’s criminal side. Dom, with the Airwolf crew, just sat in the front seat with his cabby and with a little italian charm, soon had him singing like a bird. The two cabs took different routes, looking at different parts of the city, Dom and Le Van heading toward Brooklyn, the cab with Sam and Anubis going toward Lower Manhattan, past the Empire State Building.

  
As they were passing the tallest building in the city, a golden toned car sped by them, headed toward the wharfs, and their talkative cabby told them it was probably Doc Savage, heading toward his shed full of fancy machinery. Out of the city for a bit, that usually meant, and a new story about mayhem and death in some newspaper or magazine next month. Sam was pleased, and hoped that was that potential problem out of the way. As they were shortly going by the waterfront looking at the Statue of Liberty, a bronze plane with four turbo props skittered up from the river into the air and droned away, so that was less to worry about.

  
They were going by a rather grungy bit of town, apparently near the Times Square area, when a couple of girls ran by chased by several men. Sam leaned up to the cabby and said “Get us ahead of the girls, please, then stop.”

  
“Okay, boss,” said the still partly entranced driver, who was not going to remember a thing about this evening. He stopped after passing the girls, and Sam and Brooke ducked out of the cab before it was completely stopped. Anubis took a spot between them, tongue lolling in amusement. Morgan and Hawk leaned on the cab to watch.

  
“You gals need some help?” asked Sam, as the two winded girls ran into them and held onto them on shaky legs.

  
“Run, those guys are after us!” gasped one, a petit brunette, who looked a little like she might be dark. The other girl was definitely black, though both were dressed quite well, better than Sam, probably. “Don’t let them get you, too!”

  
“Oh, it isn’t us that’ll be got,” Brooke assured them. “Get behind us and catch your breath, kids.”

  
“Hey, get away from them colored broads!” growled one of the men jogging after the girls. “We just mean to have a little fun with ‘em. Can’t expect to go wandering around here at night without something to remember the place by.”

  
“Hmm, and that seems to mean that you think you have a right to abuse young ladies without consequence?” said Sam, and Morgan grinned since he knew that tone. “Well, come try to have a little fun with me, buddy. I can guarantee I’ll have fun, anyway.”

  
“I don’t hit ladies,” grumbled one, trying to back away. “I just wanted some fun with the colored girls. I ain’t gonna do nothing to no white wimmen.”

  
“So, you think, because of my skin color, I should be immune to your, ah, wants, but these nice girls should give you a good time?” said Brooke, a growl of her own coming through. And Hawk rather hoped something fun would result. Entertainment, the two men figured, and more exciting than the show they’d seen earlier. “Sorry, no. And I’m gonna teach you better. Obviously your mothers didn’t do much of a job.”

  
“Okay, I get those two,” said Sam, pointing to the two on the left. “You get the two on the right. First one done gets to do ‘em all at once the second time. Ready? Go!”

  
Morgan and Hawk were indeed entertained, and the two girls astonished as the big white men were tossed around like toys. Sam and Brooke argued about who got to do the second round, but ended up flipping a coin. Brooke won, and left the four men propped up against a wall with penises drawn on their foreheads with lipstick.

  
“Okay, can we take you two girls anywhere?” asked Morgan, he and Hawk never having even offered to help. Anubis, in his dog form, sniffed them a few times and returned to their cab. “Seems like you need to be somewhere other than here, afore the law finds the four muscatels, there.”

  
“Who are you, sir?” asked the lighter skinned girl, eyes wide at the idea of women trouncing men so easily. “My name is Betty Whitman and this is Teresa Jones, we were on our way to the subway, but those men cut us off. Missus Tarlton kept us late cleaning up after her teaparty and we got off too near dark. Gonna be real late gettin’ home, and folks are gonna worry.”

  
“Hmph, no they won’t,” said Sam, still a bit put out that she’d only got to do two guys. “Hey, Marko, can we find another cab for these gals? Or, heck, here’s a hundred bucks, take ‘em home, we’ll get there somehow.”

  
“Oh, no, ma’am, we can’t take your cab,” said Teresa Jones, the darker girl, who seemed to be a maid of some kind. “It’ll be hard to get another here. You might get hurt, someone, well, hmm, maybe not _you_.”

  
“Notice that the men and the dog didn’t bother to do anything?” said Sam, grinning at the two. “They’re deadlier than us, by a good bit. Least, we don’t pull out guns at the drop of a hat, me and Brooke. So, you like working for this Tarlton gal? I mean, seems kinda mean to make you go home after dark. We just bought a place over on Fifth, across from the Art Museum, and me and Cait and Brooke, we got no idea how women dress around here. You know anyone could help us out? We pay pretty good. And we are never boring. Also, no one is gonna disrespect you around us.”

  
“Well, I know a lot of colored folks, family, friends, back in Harlem, who could use a good job,” said Teresa, thoughtfully. “And I have to admit, Missus Tarlton is not the best person I ever worked for. She’d never have given us a cab ride home, no matter how late she kept us. Give us your address and we’ll see what we can do. What do you need, ladies maids? Do you need valets or cooks? My Uncle Raymond trained with the French School, but they won’t let him do anything but serve.”

  
“Oh, man, the place is huge, I think we need at least a cook, maybe a couple valets, definitely at least three ladies maids, and, hmm, what you getting paid right now? Gotta say, probably only gonna be here a month or so, but we’ll make it worth your time.”

  
“Oh, we get six dollars a week,” said Teresa, looking at her friend in some surprise. “You bought a building on Fifth Avenue, and you’ll only be there for a month? Are you millionaires?”

  
“Ah, meet Don Juan Manuel Esteban Montoya y Castillo de Leon, Duke of Osuna and Count of Levin, late of Spain by way of Europe. He’s getting out of Europe before the War really gets going. So he’s loaded. Can’t go back, though. So lots of money. I’d say, a hundred bucks a week would be better, don’t you think, Don Manuel? And expenses, I guess, and health care. Gotta cover that. Get your uncle and anyone else you think is up for some adventures and bring ‘em over tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do. You okay with that, Betty, Teresa?”

  
“Adventures?” said Betty, looking at the four still unconscious men. “Like that?”

  
“Oh, no, way more fun than that,” chuckled Brooke. “But, gotta be hired before you get the full story. Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to our friends. So, Marko, take the nice ladies to their houses, and show up tomorrow night at the house, okay?”

  
“Yes, ma’am, Ms Wayne,” said the cabby, holding the door open for the two young ladies. “You girls just let me know where you wanna go.”

  
“Okay, how we gonna make it back to the house?” said Morgan, relaxed and not at all concerned, Anubis sitting on his haunches with his tongue lolling. “I mean, we can walk, I guess, but it’ll take a while. The subway, maybe?”

  
“Nah, let’s walk a bit,” said Sam, taking Morgan’s arm. “I got a feeling that this close to Times Square, we’ll find a club or a dive or something. Can get a cab from there, or just start trouble. Kinda want a little trouble.”

  
“I won the coin toss, fair and square,” Brooke reminded her, taking Blue Hawk’s arm as well. “And you just want to hit stuff, I know you.”

  
“Hawk, were we ever this rowdy?” asked Morgan of his old friend as they strolled along in the warm night. “I don’t recall ever just going into a bar or saloon to cause trouble.”

  
“You did not,” said Hawk, smiling down at Brooke. “You shot up towns, though, as I remember. More than once.”

  
“So, Brooke, what’s the difference between a restaurant, a bar and a club?” asked Sam, not having quite made out the reasons for the nomenclature. “I mean, a bar, okay, that’s just drinks, anyone goes in, right? A restaurant, mostly just food, maybe drinks? And a club, well, are they all exclusive, like you gotta buy a membership, like Cost Co?”

  
“Some, I think,” said Brooke, eyeing the few other folks out on the street here. “I don’t know about the clubs here, but some have dress codes, behavior codes, rules, you see. Mostly so that the riff-raff don’t get in, I think. For riff-raff, read people of color, mostly. Ah, how about that, a cab. Wasn’t looking forward to walking all the way back in these shoes.”

  
“Excuse me, sir,” said Sam, after flagging down the cab. “Can you take the four of us and our dog to Fifth and East Eighty first?”

  
“Sure thing, lady,” said the cabby, a man of fiery red hair and freckled complexion. “Is the dog good in cars? Gonna be crowded back there.”

  
“Oh, I’ll sit in front with Anubis,” Sam told him, happily. “We gave our cab to a couple of girls trying to get home from work. They needed it more. No one in their right minds is gonna try rough stuff with us.”

  
“I dunno, you’re a couple of classy dames, and your beaus don’t look like they’re packing heat,” shrugged the man, pulling out into the street. “This part of town can be rough, but not too bad, usually. That a guard dog?”

  
“Oh, no, Anubis and our husbands are quite able to take care of things,” laughed Sam, stroking the black fur of the jackal god. “But so are Brooke and I. Do you know a place we might get to try that sort of thing out? I mean, Brooke got all the fun last time, and I really want to hit someone. Maybe a lot of someones.”

  
“You lookin’ for some place to get in trouble?” asked the cabby, surprised. “What kinda trouble? Drinking trouble, gamblin’ trouble, crime trouble? I mean, yeah, some places are just trouble alla time, but you gotta be more specifical.”

  
“Oh, me and Brooke, we kinda want a place we won’t feel bad about beating up everyone in the place,” said Sam, grinning at him. “Like a place where folks are up to no good, but haven’t been taught better yet. I only got to do two of the four guys before, Brooke got to do her two and then whole lot over. I feel left out.”

  
“You bunch got any political leanings?” asked the cabby, his license proclaiming him to be Sean O’Hanlon. “You got anything against Nazis, the Klan, that kinda thing? I don’t trust those guys at all. I got friends they’ve roughed up, wouldn’t mind seein’ that sort ‘taught’.”

  
“Oh, hate those guys,” said Sam, bouncing in her seat, Anubis looking briefly alarmed. “Yeah, is now a good time? Dang, I am not dressed for this. These shoes are crap for fighting. Oh, well, a good fight doesn’t come along every day. What about it, guys, wanna go clear out a bar?”

  
So, about two in the morning, Sam, Brooke, Morgan and Blue Hawk, with Anubis, left their happy, and much wealthier cabby, to go into the mansion they now owned, the five of them quite satisfied. Not only had Sam and Brooke, with great enjoyment, wiped the floor with a bunch of bigotted white boys who fancied themselves Klansmen, but Anubis had been able to glean quite a few leads on Nazis, and a mention of Hydra. Morgan and Hawk had, for the most part, only hit people who went after them, but no one got up after that. Sam, somewhat to her satisfaction, had trashed her outfit. Brooke, on the other hand, was almost as neat as she had begun that evening. Morgan and Hawk had had a single beer each, their ladies nothing at all. Anubis, after the front door had closed, shook his elegant head at Sam’s wrecked outfit, and with a pass of his Ankh, made it whole.

  
Half an hour later, Airwolf’s crew came in, just about wired out of their minds, even Strimg a bit bright eyed. Their trip across the Brooklyn Bridge had resulted in a tour of the area Le Van knew from his reading on Captain America’s history. And, to his excitement, what he was sure was a sighting of the man himself. After a brief observation of the uniformed man and a woman in a distinctive uniform getting into a car, and being followed by another car, the four had had their cabby follow. When an ambush occurred, Airwolf’s heavily armed crew made sure the two in uniform were not outnumbered.

  
“He talked to us!” Le Van kept repeating, starry eyed. “It was him and Agent Carter, for real! Man, she’s not someone to fool with. Every shot between the eyes. I can’t believe it, Captain America and Agent Carter! I think I might have to get a tattoo.”

  
“Anubis’ jewelry did a great job,” said Dom, thinking about it. “We got shot at, but no one got hurt, even the guy drivin’ the hack. Yeah, that Captain America, I don’t think he’s a captain right now, Le Van, he hits like a truck. But that lady is probably even better than Brooke. Wasn’t she a founder of SHIELD? Stories I heard said she was the brains behind Cap during the war, too.”

  
“I wanna be like her,” was all Caitlin could say, grinning like a mad thing. Her knuckles were scraped, her dress torn at the shoulder, but she was happy.

  
“Did any of the guys in your phones get a clue off the guys you fought?” asked Sam, wondering if the phones had to be on for that. “Anubis got some good stuff from the guys in the bar we wrecked. “You got Ma’at in your iPhone, don’t you, Le Van?”

  
“Dang, I didn’t even think to take a selfie,” said String’s nephew, in sudden horror. “I’m such an idiot!”

  
“Nah,” said Dom, grinning at him. “If you had taken a selfie, you’d a been an idiot. You were too busy keepin’ the good guys from gettin’ shot. Way better, if you ask me. Or Cap and his lady friend, I bet.”

  
“Who’d you say you were,” asked Sam, looking at her friend with some relish. “I’m sure she asked.”

  
“Told ‘em we worked for the Shadow,” laughed Caitlin, giggling. “Agent Carter looked very confused. Steve just nodded. And then we went home. That cabby is gonna have some stories to tell.”

  
“We had a little fun ourselves, but we just beat up a bunch of KKK and got some lines on Nazis and a whiff of Hydra,” Morgan told them. “And tomorrow, we’ll likely have some job applicants, probably black, from the looks of things. We did warn them it’ll likely be just for a month or so, but as I recall, Hollywood stars got about two hundred dollars a week, and Sam promised them all a hundred. I think Sam just doesn’t want to think about dresses too much.”

  
“Oh, yes, see String, this is my plan,” Caitlin told her fellow pilot. “Just go into a bar and rough up the bad guys ‘til someone talks! Even better, Anubis doesn’t need ‘em to talk, heh. Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!”


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need a good editor, I am letting the characters run this too much. Every time I sit down at the computer, they make me write dialog for them!

The next morning, as promised, several folks showed up at the mansion door, to interview for a job. Teresa and Betty, their uncle the chef, a couple cousins for valets, and several other ladies interested in maid and house jobs for such prime wages. Anubis himself looked them over, and agreed to their hiring. He had far more experience than anyone else in their group as far as job placement went. The little group of mostly extended family folks, while mystified as to the reasons these people needed help, were perfectly willing to be helpful for that kind of wage. Then they found out just how helpful they would have to be.

  
“See,” Sam told them earnestly, “we’ve got no idea how to dress here, no idea what to wear when, how to wear stuff, even though we know there’s rules about it. But we didn’t grow up with those rules, that kind of structure, that kind of society. So we need a lot of help. Mostly to blend in, but also, we all really want to go to somewhere in Harlem to see the great jazz artists. Even if only one night. So, we need help. And we figured, we probably ought to pay for it. Is that okay with you guys and gals?”

  
“How do you not know how to act?” asked Betty, confused, but feeling like she had a better connection with Sam due to the previous night. “I mean, you have money, lots of it, haven’t you always been rich? White folks with money always have standards and rules and things to make themselves better than us colored folks. They raise their kids to have all these unspoken rules in their heads.”

  
“Hmm, well, Anubis says you all seem trustworthy, so, here’s the thing,” said Sam, reluctant, but needing to tell the story, again. Edited, of course, and probably a bit fictionalized this time. “We’re from the future, all of us, and we need to get something that a bunch of Nazi thugs are gonna steal, and keep it out of the wrong hands. We’ve got a little less than a month and then we go back. We don’t want to screw up anything in this day and age, because it would mess up our present. So, rather than going all bull-in-a-china-shop and just shooting the hell out of stuff, or whatever, we want to try a bit of subtle, try to blend, you see? And if there’s anyone less likely to be on the side of Nazis, I kind of can’t think of who it might be. That okay with you folks?”

  
“America is gonna fight the Nazis?” asked Raymond, the chef, “I mean, we got a lot of folks around just New York who don’t want to fight, and a lot who think we ought to be in it already.”

  
“Oh, boy, do they ever,” said Sam, rolling her eyes. “And the US jumps in right after the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor. You can’t ever say anything about that, though. Thing is, racism is gonna be around even in our time, cause it’s harder to kill ideas than it is to kill people. All you can do is do the best you can to fight it. And right now, that kinda means I’m using present day racism, the way people in this city treat you folks, to fight my own enemies, the Nazis and their bigot allies here. If that means I happen to help out folks that might otherwise get stepped on, well, okay with me.”

  
“Kinda sad that it’ll still be hard for colored folks, but sounds like maybe not so hard as now,” said Raymond, the oldest of the people there. “But I really don’t like Nazis, and those Klansmen, they keep tryin’ to get a hold here in New York. Ain’t easy, they hate most folks, Jews, Italians, Asians, the Irish, the Hindus, the Muslims, the American Indians, easier to list the people they don’t hate. Now, I can’t speak for everyone here, but you give me a chance to give those guys a black eye, I’m all for it.”

  
“Our job for at least a week or more, maybe two, is mostly fishing for information,” said Sam, glancing at Brooke. “Spying, trying to find out who wants to steal the Wadjet from the Art Museum. It would do us no good to know when it would be stolen, but miss the thieves as they walk by us. We have experience with that, spying, but we have no local contacts, and frankly, Caitlin’s plan, just to beat up everyone in a bar every night until we find out something, is just too time consuming, not to mention, ah, likely to attract the wrong attention.”

  
“You could do that?” asked Felicity, one of Betty’s sisters. “I thought Betty was making it up! Are your husbands really even more dangerous? I would love to be that tough!”

  
“Yeah, she could do that,” said Brooke, nodding, ready to move this along. “So the thing is, we need help to find out stuff, and we figured we’d kind of hire some local talent. Place needs furniture, kitchen stuff, whatever, so, we give you money, you go buy the things the place needs, and information on the side. And remember that we won’t be taking it back with us, so figure out what you bunch want to do with the remains. Sam says this building ends up a parking lot, but those things print money in our day, so we want to make some kind of provision or corporation or trust or something that means your families get to keep the place, or at least the cash flow. I know that New York, like many places, did their best to grind down the black population, but I like the idea of thwarting that kind of thing. We can afford a really good lawyer, if you know one.”

  
“I’ll make a few calls,” said Raymond, taking a hard look at Brooke. He seemed to like what he saw, and nodded to his friends and relatives. “I think you ladies got yourselves some allies. We probably shouldn’t call it a mob or gang, associates, I guess. Jeffrey, you and Tyrone, you take the men off to see what they have to wear, that has to be the first thing. They have excellent taste in fashion, Ms Brooke, and I think we need to get your Aunt Jolene here for the ladies, Betty. She has some of the best taste in clothes I know, and will get them fitted and dressed properly. Teresa, who is that cousin of ours who does makeup for theaters? Ah, Carmina. Get her here for makeup and consulting. She needn’t be part of the inner circle here, but if Ms Sam has ever used makeup in her life, I see no evidence of it.”

  
“Good eye,” sighed Sam. “I think I’ve really only used greasepaint for Halloween a few times. I wouldn’t know blush from eyeliner.”

  
“You’ll need warpaint if you mean to see the clubs in Harlem,” Betty told them. “And not just makeup. Fashion with a capital F, too. Some clubs won’t even let in famous white people, if they aren’t dressed right. And by right I mean fancy as all get out.”

  
“And I think we need my brother, Frank,” Raymond said, thoughtfully. “A butler is going to be needed for a while, and if you have visitors, not to mention, coordination of the operation. Do we have phone lines? Power? Then we can get going. Do you want anyone to be here overnight? Is there a servant's entrance?”

  
“I don’t know,” said Sam, and looked at Anubis. “A servant’s entrance? A back door, like?”

  
“Hah, you are not the fine folk you want to emulate,” grinned Raymond. “Never told anyone to go to the service entry, take it around back, anything like that? Heh, the future sounds pretty good, just from that.”

  
“Anubis says there is a place like that,” said Sam, with the god’s voice in her head. “Follow him, he’ll show you. Got plenty of room, if anyone wants to stay over, I guess. Not much furniture, yet.”

  
“Thomas, go with the dog and find out where things are. It should be near the kitchen. I will make a list of what is needed in the kitchen. I assume there is no china?”

  
“No, but we don’t need fancy stuff here, since mostly we’ll likely only eat breakfast or lunch now and then,” said Sam, as Anubis led the bemused Thomas out of the room and down the stairs. “Not likely to have a dinner party, either. Get whatever you think you need, no limits on the budget. And remember to add yourselves into the food chain. The troops gotta eat. And sleep and get clothed. Oh, yeah, if you gotta take us shopping, well, you gotta look your parts, too. Whatever you think will get us into the information stream, that’s what we gotta do.”

  
“Wait, you’re gonna give us this whole building?” said Teresa, eyes wide. “Just for helping you? Well, sit back and prepare to be helped all to pieces!”

  
“Remember,” said Brooke, making calming motions with her hands, “subtle, not obvious. Low key, nobody can notice. We need to not get any of you hurt, we don’t know, you might all turn out to be really important people. Heck, we don’t want anyone really to know anything about us. And if any of you get hurt, I know there’s gonna be blood on the streets, and that will likely blow our cover.”

  
“You know, Caitlin already took the Shadow’s name in vain last night,” said Sam thoughtfully. “Might not be a bad idea to keep doing that. Even if he gets mad, no one will be dumb enough to go after his people, and won’t be surprised if we make a mess. He was, I think, not shy about shooting stuff up.”

  
“He terrifies the white gangs,” nodded Raymond, thinking about it. “Colored folk don’t see much of him, really. More seen in Chinatown, I hear. Wasn’t sure he was real, actually. He is, then?”

  
“According to our records, yes,” nodded Brooke. “You have what we call mystery men now. Some stories, records of them survive to our time. We have, ah, powered folk, enhanced, metas, supers, mutants, not too common, but this city is the center of that kind of thing, and this is the age it starts in. Sam collects them, kind of. Knows lots of them, seems like. Oh, if you stretch a point, Caitlin and her boys are enhanced. Me and Sam, just really good with hitting stuff, sneaking around, killing if we have to. Our guys, too, come to that. Anubis, well, he’s more powerful than all of us, so treat him nicely. If he decides you’re all on the up and up, you might get to _see_ what he really is.”

  
“Ah, I feel like I’ve fallen into a pulp magazine story,” said Betty, wide eyed. “I just don’t want to be the stupid girl the hero always has to rescue. I’d rather be the person doing the rescuing, or at least the work that saves the day.”

  
“Heh, yeah, I never liked those, either,” said Sam, nodding. “I’ll rescue myself, thank you. Mostly.”

  
“Alright, I think you are hired,” said Sam, standing up and stretching. “You want a tour, or just to go looking around on your own? We just got here, so all we were using as space is on this floor and the first one, the ground floor. Plenty of rooms, seems to me. We’ve been using the second floor sitting room here to watch the Art Museum and people going by. We might need to have other lookouts later, but we are trying to blend in.”

  
“Well, first we gotta get you folks dressed proper,” decided Raymond. “Betty, you and Teresa and Felicity take the ladies and find out what they have to wear, and figure out what they need to get that is off the rack. We’ll wait until your Aunt Jolene gets here to figure out where we’ll go for fancy going out things. And the rest of us will see what needs buying, make lists, then figure out where to buy those things that will get us the most information. Everyone, leave your names and addresses on the list here so we can get payments and such formalized. Also, we’ll need to know who is going to need what kind of cash for the buying.”


	51. Chapter 51

With most of the future folks being ably bossed around by their new employees, they soon had several expeditions ready to go, the cash reserves heavily raided for the process. Sam found the sad shaking of heads at their available clothes somewhat intimidating. She rightly guessed what was coming.

  
“Tomorrow,” said Raymond, “tomorrow, the ladies shop. We can get things more easily for the men, but tomorrow is easier than starting now. We’ll get the network set up with folks back in Harlem, and work out where to go and who to talk to tonight. Tomorrow we’ll have more of an idea who we think will talk, who we can find that jabbers in front of the help, who might be careless with waiters around. Just about everyone is, and if we need to know something, we can usually find it out.”

  
“Just, none of you, or any of your friends, take any chances,” warned Sam seriously. “I have a lot of training and experience, we all do, and weapons, too, so let _us_ take any risk like that, not you. After all, you guys all belong here, in this time, we don’t, and so we can afford to get hurt, you can’t. Remember the spy game is always to avoid detection, blend in, be invisible. Get the info, but don’t get caught.”

  
“A good spy is, to all around them, just what they seem, even to themselves, most of the time,” Brooke told them as they showed the three ladies maids, and two other girls that seemed to be intending to be cleaners or general help. “Even after they find out what they want to know, what is hidden or what is needed, they must act as a normal person, unaware of what they have just been told, found, discovered. Only foolish or unskilled, or very unlucky, spies have to run, make obvious that they were spying. And yes, once I needed to do that. But mostly, no one ever connected me to any loss or breach of security.”

  
“You are a spy?!” exclaimed Teresa, impressed, “like Mata Hari!”

  
“Mata Hari was nothing more than an exotic dancer that lied her way in front of a firing squad,” said Brooke severely. “No one who is a real spy is that flamboyant, that obvious and open about who and what they are doing. Even if she was a bad spy, for someone, she was bad. We know her name, she got shot. Really good spies, professionals, don’t even get noticed, no one knows who they are, and they only get killed by other really good spies, not by firing squad. Or accident, if we’re really unlucky.”

  
“None of you be unlucky, either, okay?” said Sam, as the maids shook their heads over the available clothes Sam had. Caitlin was better, but didn’t have any fancy clothes, she hadn’t raided the stars’ dressing rooms, only the extras that wouldn’t be missed. Brooke, though better than Sam, was not as good as Caitlin’s stash. And the shoes, none of them had proper shoes!

  
“Okay, I’m not clear on the shoe thing,” said Sam, confused. “Who cares what my feet are doing? And why must I have heels and more than a few pairs? You can’t fight properly in heels, and running is not easy, either. What should I wear, then? Boots?”

  
“Well, you might get away with riding boots, if you wear riding clothes, as well,” Betty admitted thoughtfully. “But not at dinner or anything important like a show. It’s assumed you would change for those.”

  
“And casual stuff? Like walking down the street anonymously?” said Sam in resignation. “It’s still gonna make me wear those hideous bras and girdles, isn’t it? Dang, I might as well be wearing body armor, if I have to fight. I gotta tell you girls, this stuff is seriously hard on your body, this girdle stuff, and heels. But blending in, I guess I gotta do it.”

  
“Millers is in business, right now, and does custom boots,” Brooke said thoughtfully. “We could get some while we’re here, if you’re good.”

  
“Oh, yeah, we gotta go there,” said Sam, her eyes lighting up. “A saddle for Kumara from there? And maybe a nice cavalry style for Morgan? Yeah, and who knows what we might hear, being horse country. After all, that’s a lingo we speak pretty well.”

  
“Oh, you’re horse people,” said Teresa, enlightened. “Not the stuck up kind, though. You do your own riding and cleaning and feeding, then? No grooms and such?”

  
“We have a ranch with mostly retired polo horses,” Brooke agreed. “Do our own mucking and grooming and exercising. Got a few we take out for shows and such, but mostly it’s hard work. Dirty, but fun hard work.”

  
“Is that how you got here?” asked Betty, eyes wide, but feeling more comfortable. Her uncle had a farm with horses and cows, and she knew it was work. “On horses? I don’t see much riding stuff.”

  
“No, we flew here,” said Brooke, having ascertained that flight was not that uncommon, now. “And only brought a few things, because of it. So, got any idea what we should do first, tomorrow?”

  
“Shoes first,” said Teresa, thinking about it. “In case you gotta get something special. “Then we take you to Macy’s, I guess. Unless you want to go uptown to Harlem and get stuff there. But that won’t do you any good with the information network thing. Maybe Saks, or something. And I know where Millers is, all the jockeys go there. My uncle works out at the track, and he goes there a lot.”

  
The rest of the day was taken up with calls and arrangements, money being spread around and Raymond marshalling his forces. By evening they had a reasonable amount of stuff to eat in the kitchen, six more residents and a plan. After getting clothes and shoes ready, they were to all go to the Museum itself, and check out the exhibits, especially the one with the Wadjet. That night they went out to a place in Harlem, as there was too much segregation to deal with in most of New York, if they all wanted to eat together. Betty and Raymond were vocal in that they could eat separately, but Sam and the other time travelers would not hear of it.

  
“That’s the stupidest thing about this time,” grumbled Sam, to Teresa and Raymond’s shocked expressions. “Racism is really just rude. Heck, this is New York, melting pot of the world, why’d they think anyone should be different? If I want Chinese or Italian or Thai food, I go to a restaurant that has that kind of food, right? I shouldn’t have to go clear across town to get it. Same for Somalian or Egyptian or Hindu or Nigerian. Or pho! Dang, I could murder a good Vietnamese pho right now.”

  
“The real bridge to cure racism is food,” added Dom, having no wish to exclude their new friends. “So, any idea where we can all go out to eat?”

  
“You forgot Mexican, Sam,” said Caitlin, nodding. “And I bet I couldn’t find a half decent burrito anywhere in this town. Maybe barbecue, though.”

  
“Well, I do know a barbecue place on the edge of Harlem, where lots of folks go,” said Raymond, still rather unnerved by the idea of eating with white folks. “My cousin runs it, and he has a back room, we could all eat there. I think it’s the only place we could go that seats that many.”

  
“Done!” said Anubis’ voice in his head. “Make the reservations, please, and call some taxis. We shall go and have plots over good food.”

  
“Yessir,” said Raymond, glancing around and not recognizing the source of the voice. “Uh, who was that?”

  
“Anubis,” said Sam, as Teresa dragged her off to dress her for their dinner. “I told you he was powerful. None of us have actual superpowers, but he does.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In reading other people's stuff, I find much mention of posting on a schedule, which is generally unmet. Is that a thing?

Shortly they were all dressed, loaded into cabs for the short ride to Harlem and then ushered into the well kept back room of a diner that declared itself to be “Shorty’s Short Ribs and Barbecue Restaurant”. It was apparent that the place was barely open, although the sun had set. Raymond assured them that the place was a favorite of many who spent time in the clubs, especially those that served no food. Most of the music clubs and venues served only drinks with their shows, but some had dinners. The performers themselves, and many of the folks who worked the nightlife also ate at little food places all around the area. Shorty, himself, who didn’t look all that short to Sam, came out and took their orders, not at all perturbed by the mixing of colors of his guests.

  
The meal was excellent, the colored folks gradually relaxing, as they were more or less on home ground, and no one gave them any trouble about their talk or their table manners. It was weird, like eating with normal people, family even. None of the white people even drank, just water, coffee, tea, although the ice in the tea was odd. Good, but odd.

  
“Well, String, Dom, Le Van and Caitlin are pilots,” said Morgan to Raymond when he mentioned it. “They don’t drink much at all. It’s a reflexes thing. Alcohol dulls and eventually destroys nerves, and they can’t afford that with the things they fly. Me and Hawk, gave it up, really, not the best thing for a steady hand on a gun or a good fight. Sam never drank, didn’t like it, says she likes the brain cells she has, thank you. Brooke, she usually drinks wine, if she drinks at all. But she can shoot, hits what she aims at, that’s what matters.”

  
“Well, most of what Shorty serves is beer, not the hard stuff,” shrugged Raymond.

  
“So, you and Hawk, you’re muscle, then? What about that Anubis guy? I hear him, but he isn’t the dog, is he? A talking dog is, uh, kinda horrifying. And time travel, how you gonna get back?”

  
“We’re muscle,” nodded Morgan, smiling. “We all are, I guess. Got guns, got training, but got smarts, too. Anubis, though, he’s Anubis, the actual Anubis, the Ancient Egyptian god. God of the Dead, Judge of the Soul, a god of justice and protector of tombs, a very mighty and powerful god. He and his kin were worshiped for thousands of years, much longer than Christianity has existed, and far longer than any other pantheon. This, apparently, makes them fairly powerful even among deities, and he wants to make sure that the Wadjet is not going to be used to do bad things, so here we are. He can read hearts, so he says, and knows who is good and who is telling truth, and who isn’t. He likes all you folks, so you’re on the team. He’s the one making the gold we keep trading, so, he’s also the financier. Our time machine, kinda, is on the roof of the place, and she’s a machine person. The kids back home like to think she’s a princess in the shape of a flying machine, so we call her the Lady. Be best if you folks don’t go up to look at her, she’s got guns that make cannons look like slingshots. She’s got herself hooked up to the local phone system and radio waves, and she’s always on alert.”

  
“I see,” said Raymond, privately wondering how he got himself into this. Oh, that’s right, his niece got saved by one of them. Well, the money was good, and he wasn’t being asked to do anything especially hard. And it didn’t even seem to be illegal. They weren’t going to steal something, they were going to take it from someone already stealing it, if he got the story straight. “Well, I’m Baptist, but my family go back to New Orleans, and voodoo, or voudun, the Creole magic stuff. I guess I can work for a deity who pays good money. Egyptians were often black folks, it seems to me.”

  
“Yeah,” said Sam from beside Morgan. “The Twenty-fifth Dynasty was Nubian kings, were rulers of the Two Lands, and by all accounts, pretty good kings. My favorite was one who liked horses, Piye, I think, who after a siege was really upset with the way they starved the horses. That guy had his priorities straight.”

  
“Ah, you are also a scholar, then,” nodded Raymond. “Egyptologist, or just general stuff? You seem quite knowledgeable on ancient things, although, you must be, I suppose, if you are working for an actual god.”

  
“Oh, got a degree in Anthropology, Archeology, English, some Journalism,” said Sam, waving a fork with some barbecued pork on it at Morgan. “He’s got some Law, Medicine, practical detective experience. Hawk the same, but with more languages. String, Le Van and Brooke, spies and undercover work, Brooke did her degree in Law, too, I think. Caitlin went the Humanities route, I forget which, and of course, we all shoot and have hand to hand combat skills. I don’t remember if Dom ever told me if he did college, but he’s a pilot and an avionics engineer, and if those four between ‘em can’t fly something, it was never meant to get off the ground.”

  
“So, the time machine flies?” asked Raymond, slowly, thinking about it. “And is intelligent and armed. I wish I read more science fiction. H.G. Wells was so primitive compared to this.”

  
“Just roll with it,” advised Le Van, on his other side. “Or think about it as just a game. Not like we gotta save the world _this_ time. Our aim is to get a dangerous weapon out of play for coming hostilities. You live in the city the thing is in, so it’s in your interests to help us. Plus, get paid. You’re still hired help, but this time you get to know what’s going on, and why. Another plus, the bad guys are really bad, the Nazis and their sort. I could tell you how bad, but you won’t believe it. Wait ‘til after the War, and you’ll know what I meant.”

  
“Then we are in agreement,” nodded Raymond, having no illusions about the way things would go if the Nationalist Socialist Party had their way. Eugenics was just a fancy way to justify race wars. “I moved out of the South because of that kind of thinking, and I don’t intend to go any farther. The music here is just as good as New Orleans, so this is home, now. So, the plan tomorrow is to go and outfit the ladies, and get some good clothes for the men. The next day we’ll have alterations and that sort of thing, while we get the house set up for living, and set out feelers for information. Long as we have the money to do it, information is easy to get.”

  
“Yeah, unfortunately, the Germans and their allies are aware of that, too.” nodded Brooke. “There are other spies out there, although possibly not black people. Germans and Italians and Austrians and Japanese, though less Japanese than the others, all trying to get information on military targets and things. We don’t care about that, but if you run across someone like that, tell us, we’ll, hmm, take care of it. The Lady has feelers out, too.”

  
“What, like secret codes and hidden radios and spies and stuff?” asked Betty, wide eyed. “What do you mean, take care of it?”

  
“Keep you folks safe, take out the trash,” said Dom, sitting back with a sigh of contentment. “Dang, that is barbecue. I ain’t had that good since the one you threw a few months ago, Sam. “I fought in the war that’s coming up, Ray, and the Nazis are bad news. Not just for Europe and the U.S., but also the rest of the world. Word of advice, if you got money, after the war, invest it in land in London, then hang onto it. Or Tokyo, I suppose, but I think that would be more complicated.”

  
“London,” said String, having hardly said a word in the hearing of the new group. “Japanese laws don’t allow ownership by _gaijin_.”

  
“Wetwork, spies call it,” shrugged Caitlin, talking to Teresa. “Assassination, really. We don’t want to do it if we can avoid it, but we won’t see anyone we know hurt, threatened, either. Now, remember, we gotta have stuff we can fight in, if we buy stuff. I don’t know if a girdle will do it. How much stretch do those things have? I never wore one.”

  
“Well, you probably don’t need one, you ladies are fit,” said Teresa. “But you need bras. The one’s you’re wearing are, hmm, making you the wrong shape? Yeah, bras are supposed to make you, uh, kinda pointy? You ladies are all kinda round. I don’t mean that’s bad, really, but that’s what dresses and fashion are trying to do. Current stuff is wide shoulders, narrow waist, kind of long from the waist. Shouldn’t be hard to fight in those kinds of dresses, but I’ve never tried. The shoes, maybe we can find something you like that does both.”

  
“I’ll be fine, Teresa,” Caitlin told her. “I wore cowboy boots a good part of my life, so heels are no problem for me. Sam, she spent most of her life in low heels, for riding or other things. She’s gonna be trouble.”

  
“And Miss Brooke?” asked Teresa, glancing at the spy, wiping her fingers on her napkin fastidiously.

  
“I,” said Brooke, looking at her cooly, “am an adult. I wear heels, hose, girdles, bras and other things without fuss. I also find that girdles and such are fine places to attach a good holster, and garters hold knives quite well. If we explain that to Sam, we might have less objections.”


End file.
